


Stardust - Book I

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Enhances original, Canon - Fills plot hole(s), Canon - Non-canonical to good purpose, Characters - Family Dynamics, Characters - Friendship, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - Good villain(s), Characters - OOC to good purpose, Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Unusual relationship(s), Characters - Well-handled emotions, Characters - Well-handled romance/eroticism, Plot - Bittersweet, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - I reread often, Plot - Surprising reversals, Plot - Tear-jerker, Romance, Subjects - Culture(s), Subjects - Explores obscure facts, Subjects - Geography, Subjects - Politics, War of the Ring, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Foreshadowing, Writing - Good use of humor, Writing - Mythic/Poetic, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled dialogue, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2002-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lady of Gondor decides that only Legolas will do for her ... but what is it she really wants?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolog

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

The solitary figure standing on the silver shore was a familiar one to the inhabitants of the Undying Lands. He could oft be glimpsed once the moon rose, watching the stars as he sang under the moonlight. This evening, however, he did not move with light steps over the sand singing into the night but stood absolutely still and silent, staring stolidly over the softly rolling waves toward the East. His demeanor was so altered that those who shared the beach remarked on it between themselves with quiet voices, careful not to disturb him as they moved past. As the moon finally set and only faint starlight illuminated the shore, one finally gathered the courage to approach. 

  


"Father." Her hushed voice was hesitant. "Does something trouble you?"

  


"What could trouble me?" he responded lightly. He turned his face toward her. For a moment she thought she saw an unnatural sheen under his lids, but realized it was just the glitter of starlight reflecting in his clear, distant eyes. 

  


"You seem unlike your usual self."

  


He smiled at her gently. "I was just taking a few moments to remember." He gazed at his daughter steadily. "She has passed."

  


She understood immediately of whom he spoke although, with no living memory to trouble her own thoughts, she could not easily share what she took to be her father's grief. Yet there was nothing of grief about his manner, just a somberness she was not used to seeing in him. "I am sorry," she finally offered. "I know she was dear to you."

  


The humor that played about his mouth spread to the rest of his face, and his eyes lost their distant expression. "Yes, or else you would not be here, daughter." He regarded her steadfastly. "You are very like her." Lifting one hand, he touched a finger to the side of her face. "Tell me; do you ever wonder about Middle-earth? Have you any call to return there?"

  


"All I could ever want is here," she said, simply.

  


His bright smile flashed. "I am relieved. Many of the Half-Elven chose to stay in Middle-earth. Even now I sometimes surprise a longing on the face of Lord Elrond. He feels the pull there, I think, even as I felt the pull here the first time I saw the gulls. The spell of Middle-earth can draw in even the strongest of us. Galadrial yet awaits the arrival of Celeborn. She meets every boat expecting it to carry him. I do not think he will come."

  


"Father--you never speak of her."

  


He was silent for so long she thought he would still not speak. Finally he replied in an even and steady tone. "The story is hers, not mine, daughter."

  


"I'll ask Godfather Dwarf." She kept her voice light, but her father heard the sincerity in the mock-threat.

  


"Gimli knows very little of it, although I have no doubt he could still spin you a merry tale." He smiled at her once more, and still she saw nothing in his face that could be termed grief. He turned to look over the sea, as if he could stare down the Straight Path and gaze on the distant shores of Middle-earth itself. "You are no longer a child, even by the standards of Elves. Very well. I warn you, there is much I do not understand about your mother. She was mortal, and although I have had many close friendships with mortals, they are different and I can not always discern why they do what they do. But I will try to tell it as she would have told it."

  



	2. Moments of Weakness, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lady of Gondor decides that only Legolas will do for her ... but what is it she really wants?

Although most of the children and virtually all of the women left Minas Tirith well before the beginning of the siege, a bare handful of each remained. Bergil, young son of Beregond, ran errands for the Guards and Ioreth, who had prepared medicines and bandages in preparation for the battle, was already hard at work caring for those who had fallen to orc arrows shot over the high walls. Among the wounded moved several handmaidens, some who had never before cared for the ill but who found reserves of resolve and courage when pressed by their dire situation. Unlooked for hope came to all when the discord of war, heard dimly as a constant background even in the Houses of Healing, was overlaid by the brash cries of many horns, a sign that the riders of Rohan had come to the aid of the beleaguered white city. Even through the pain of their wounds the men of Minas Tirith could raise a ragged cheer. 

  


One lady, however, turned a moment from her grim work. She stood by a window and pulled back the covering, briefly staring out at the battle raging over the Pelennor Fields, hearing the wild horns braying a death knell rather than salvation. _He will not return, then,_ she thought without bitterness. _So be it. I know what I must do._ Briefly she laid a hand on her stomach before letting the cover fall back over the window, deadening some of the sounds from the battle. She turned back to her duties and, while she performed them without fail, there was a gleam of calculation in her eyes when she looked at each wounded man that had not been present before.

  


\------

  


While the many acts of valor that took place during the Battle of Pelennor Fields have been long commemorated in song and tale, there were also many acts of valor within the walls of Minas Tirith itself. Most were never commemorated by any except those that directly experienced them. Those in the Houses of Healing made do with the thanks of wounded and dying men, removed from the thick of the battle yet ever aware of both the rumor of it outside their walls and the cruel results brought into their care. Even as the criers in the streets shouted of the fall of the Dark Captain and the route of the Enemy's minions, tempers and supplies ran short in the Healing wards. "How can I cleanse wounds without water?" rasped Ioreth, her old voice more cracked than ever with weariness and irritation. She cast her gaze about for one of the errand runners, but between the need to spread the news of the victory and to fight the fire that raged in the Halls of the Dead, there were none at hand. Her eyes fell upon a young woman, lingering by the bedside of a Rider of Rohan who was not much injured and who was receiving, perhaps, a share of attention that had little to do with his wounds. "You!" Ioreth snapped, and both the young people jumped, the woman spinning about with guilt on her features, the man wincing in pain and clutching at his wounded side. "We need water, missy! Hie you to the wells and fetch it hence."

  


It was not work she was used to, but much that she had done the last few days could be so described. She smiled at the warrior and brushed her fingers over his hand in parting, and rushed out of the sickrooms to do Ioreth's bidding. Sniffing, the old woman marched over to the Rider to see that he had not reopened his cuts. "Old dame, who was that?" the Rider asked her anxiously. "I did not get her name."

  


Old she may have been, but she had been young once and she knew the look in the man's eyes. "A Lady far above your station, unless you are the King of the Horseriders," she told him, curtly, "and even were it so, she is wed. Take your mind elsewhere."

  


Ioreth received a rakish grin in response. "Wed is all the better. It saves the time wasted on courtship."

  


The old nurse scowled and pinched the edges of his wound together a bit harshly as she rewrapped the bandage; the young Rider yipped, then laughed at her and lay back to rest.

  


\--------------

  


She was almost dazzled when she set foot outside the Houses of Healing. The dark clouds that blanketed Gondor from horizon to horizon had lifted some hours earlier, but those closeted inside had not noticed. Blinking, she held one hand over her face and looked toward the battlefield. A great pall of dust hung over the Fields, and the smell of smoke and ash was still heavy in the city's air, but still it seemed to her a more fair sight than she had witnessed in many a day. She shouldered the pails and gazed forlornly down the many stairs she would have to traverse to get to the wells, and tried not to think about the even more trying journey up the stairs once the pails were filled.

  


She had filled the buckets, and was beginning the long trudge back, when she heard some cheers go up around her. Hurrying to the edge of the walkway, she looked toward the gate that led to the lower circle of the city. Through it rode some warriors, not Riders but Rangers by their rough woodsman garb, and at the tail of the small company were two who, despite being garbed in a similar fashion, immediately drew her eye.

  


She could not say how she knew, having never seen an Elf before, but as soon as her eyes fell upon the two she knew exactly what they had to be. Even begrimed with the dirt of battle there was an air about them far different from the Men they rode behind. She leaned over the wall, wishing a better view, and thought to call out to them as they passed under her post. "Lords, will you not tarry a moment? I have fresh well water to cleanse your throats of the dust of battle."

  


They looked up at her, surprised but pleased, and dismounted, meeting her at the foot of the stair where they allowed her to serve them the water. They were even more fair close up, and she found herself over-awed, unable to speak more than simple words to them. So they spoke between themselves as they drank, very like Men were wont to do, as if she were not there. "Did you note the Prince?" one asked of the other.

  


"Imrahil? How could I not? Although it is long removed, he is clearly kin to us," said the other in amusement. "I doubt he even realizes it himself. I wish Father were here! He would doubtless know who it was that tarried in Middle Earth some few decades before making the crossing. I would know the tale."

  


"It would be a sad one," replied the one who had spoken first. "Tales of Men with Elves always are. I have witnessed the beginning of many sad songs today. It will be a long time before I have the heart to hear any more." He smiled at her as he handed the ladle back, thanking her with courtesy and asking if there were a place to stable their horses for a brief time while they searched out comrades who had been carried to the Houses of Healing during the battle. Glancing up on the walkways, she chanced to see Bergil staring down on the two with awe and called to him, asking him to see to the needs of the elf lords' horses. Bergil nearly flew down the stairs, so great was his delight. The two thanked her once more and made their way up the winding walkway.

  


Shouldering her pails again, she smiled without humor. Even Elves would speak carelessly around one they took to be a servant, and from what was said it seemed Elves were not so different from Men in other ways as well. As she considered how they spoke of the Prince, resolve began to harden in her veins. Those of the line of Dol Amroth such as Prince Imrahil were said to be longer lived than most of the nobility of Gondor, and less prone to the ailments that afflicted other Men in their later years. Certainly the Prince himself was fair to look upon, and those two were beyond fair. All attributes that would be assets in any line. The gleam of calculation again came into her eyes, and the hopeful young Rider of Rohan was utterly forgotten. 

  


When she returned to the House of Healing she asked careful questions of some of her charges who came late off the battlefield, and found her quarry were more than mere Elves, they were Elven lords, the twin sons of Elrond, who oft traveled with the Northern Rangers. Perhaps they were the source of the rumors of the King she heard bandied about, although no-one seemed to have actually seen a King, just a banner in the wind thought to represent his return. Even now the Rangers and their Elven comrades camped outside of the city's gates. She was impatient to follow them, although she also understood her duty to the wounded and made sure all in her care were well tended. Therefore it was evening before she made the long walk to the lowest circle of the city, and stood on the wall overlooking what had been the battlefield. She could see the lights of the encampment, and even the fire-highlighted features of the Rangers who moved about the camp, for they were close enough to the city itself to be revealed to her sharp young eyes. They were tall, fell warriors, dark as her husband had been dark, and many would have earlier found favor with her had she not set her mind elsewhere. She searched in vain for the Elven lords for some time, and was about to turn from the wall in defeat when two new figures walked into the circle of firelight.

  


What caught her eye first was the shorter of the two. She knew of the Halflings, one of whom had been brought wounded to the Houses of Healing. She had not been permitted to attend him, so she had yet to see one of the strange little folk. As she studied the form, however, she knew she would have to wait longer to satisfy her curiosity about Halflings, for they had been described to her as children. This stout figure with its long, heavy beard could never be mistaken for that of a child. He leaned on his double-headed axe as he looked up at his companion, who stepped closer to the fire, cocking his head to catch words she could not hear. The firelight gilded his hair to a burnished red-gold, and the smile that chased across his face at his companion's words was not the polite one of the Elf lords nor the practiced charmed one of the wounded Rider, but one of genuine caring and open friendship such as had been dearly lacking in Minas Tirith under the rule of the Steward Denethor. Although he in no other aspect resembled her husband, her husband was a Man who had spent enough time away from Minas Tirith to still have a sincere smile, and for a moment the expression on the Elf's face brought him strongly to mind.

  


So her gaze fell for the first time on the Elf Legolas, and her half-formed plans for one or the other of the Elven sons of Elrond went the way of her flirtation with the hapless Rider of Rohan. Once she saw him, only he would suit her purpose. Her thoughts became fixed upon getting him into her bed. 

  



	3. Moments of Weakness, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lady of Gondor decides that only Legolas will do for her ... but what is it she really wants?

It was one thing to decide on the individual who would do the deed and another to determine the best way to attract his interest. Questions about how to proceed kept her from sleep that night as she paced in the little room she had so recently shared with her husband. She knew not the Elf's name nor his rank, nor how she should approach him. Did he ride with the Rangers as did the other Elves? If so, she might have very little time, for Rangers never stayed in a single place for long. She would have to be direct, and although she was known to be both fair and honest to a fault, asking a Man (or Elf) bluntly to bed her was beyond her experience. She knew there were women as well as men who were bold about such things, but she had never been such a woman, nor had any man ever been so bold with her.

She also thought, in some moments during the night when her self-mocking humor stirred and turned inward, that if she were mistaken and her husband yet lived, he would be wroth beyond measure with her for the course she was plotting. She pushed her indecision aside. She would explain, and he would either forgive her or not forgive her as the mood took him. She rather thought he would; he had ever been a prosaic man.

But she had no word from him, and as his mission was to bring the Riders to Gondor, the fact the Riders were here and he was not told her his fate. Sighing, she stopped pacing and prepared for bed. There was little chance of her attracting the attention of anyone other than Ioreth if she went about with dark circles under her eyes.

\--------------

As it had been chance that first brought the Elves to her attention, it was chance that presented the opportunity to further their acquaintance. Or, to be more precise, the acquaintance of the one she had seen bathed in firelight the evening before. 

After an uneasy sleep she awoke early, and having no better plan for the day thought to go to the milliners and tailors in the city's lowermost circle, there to gather scraps of fine cloth that could be fashioned for bandages in the Houses of Healing. The merchants had always accommodated her requests even before the host of Mordor brought the battle to their very doorstep, no doubt expecting her to return the favor by honoring their establishments with her business once the court of the Stewards left matters of war and returned to matters of pleasure. She did not dissuade them, although truth to tell her heart was not in Minas Tirith but lay far away, in lands long overrun by orcs and Southerners. She passed by the great houses in the second circle without pause, sparing only one building a brief glance. Like most of the noble residences it bore an air of genteel neglect, its graceful lines still obvious despite the general disrepair. They had attempted, briefly, to live in it when the obligations of kinship and oaths forced them to reside in Minas Tirith, but her husband could not stop sneezing no matter how many windows were opened, and they had quickly relocated to the rooms reserved for officers in the guards. Whatever the outcome of these difficult times, neither wished to long remain in the city.

He had remarked, more than once, that they should hire a caretaker in case they had the misfortune to spawn some lily-handed city dweller among their brood who would prefer the musty old building to their open stone home in the stately forest with its ancient, gentle trees. She retorted that it was a shame he couldn't unload it on his brother, since a house in the City would make it easier to kiss the hands of lords he wished to flatter. Her husband had shouted with laughter, suggesting that "hand" was not the appropriate body part.

Two things she did not want to deal with all in the same thought; her husband and her brother-in-law. If her mind tarried on either she had no doubt she would collapse on the spot, either screaming like the men out of the front lines who came too close to the terror of the Shadow's leader, or staring at nothing like those whose only hurt appeared to be that of a mind over-burdened with the horror of war. She would have plenty of time for collapsing if her plan worked. Indeed, all those around her would no doubt insist she spend a great deal of time in bed with her feet up. She pulled a face; the confinement that would come with success was another thought she did not wish to dwell on. So she again tried to lock her grief and fury away in a tiny corner of her mind.

Yet her dark thoughts made her pause in one of the entryways of the lowest circle, dashing aside bitter tears with the back of her hand. It wasn't _fair,_ she thought to herself even as she tried to push aside the anger that was beginning to crowd her mind. They had done everything, _everything,_ demanded of them by honor and by the Steward. Through great peril her husband had sought the Riders at the Steward's command, and he must have been successful for the Riders had come. Yet it seemed, at the end, cold fate brought victory to Gondor even while ensuring there would be nothing left for him or those that depended upon him.

And she stayed in the entryway, her tears drying on her face, as she heard something she had not heard in many a day. Song. Someone was singing, not the rough war songs of the Riders that had echoed through the city as the battle raged, but a song of warmth and happiness. It was in a language she had never heard before, yet she knew even as it flowed over and around her it must be Elvish. Surely no other language had the power to lift the heart with just in the hearing of it.

"It is far too early for you to be so cheerful," grumbled a rough voice. It brought her back to herself abruptly, and she pushed herself away from the stone wall but remained in the shadow of the overhanging archway. She peered down the narrow walkway to see if she could catch a glimpse of singer or speaker.

When she did, although she did not immediately forgive fate for its cold treatment of late, her harsh opinion of it eased somewhat.

It was the two she had seen by the fire the previous night, the stout broad Dwarf and his Elvish companion. They were on the main road, usually filled with horses and hand-drawn carts but empty this early in the morning. Both had their weapons out, the Dwarf with his axe over one shoulder, the Elf lightly holding his strung bow in one hand, ready to swiftly notch an arrow should need arise. It was akin to a swordsman walking through town with naked blade in hand. Normally the open display of arms would alarm her, but their demeanor was casual and there was no threat about them. Indeed, she thought they didn't even realize how they carried their weapons. 

"I but greet the sun," protested the Elf, smiling. "You have been so busy staring at the pebbles under your feet that you haven't even noticed we walk in sunlight. It is so long since I last saw the clear light of day, it is as if I've never seen it before."

The Dwarf gave a skeptical snort, but his gaze returned to the path he trod. "There is some good stone-work here," he remarked, "but also some that is less good, and the streets could be better contrived. When Aragorn comes into his own, I shall offer him the service of stonewrights of the Mountain, and we will make this a town to be proud of."

The Elf shielded his eyes against the light he had so recently praised, tilting his head back to stare at the towers and turrets of Minas Tirith. "They need more gardens. The houses are dead, and there is too little here that grows and is glad. If Aragorn comes into his own, the people of the Wood shall bring him birds that sing and trees that do not die."

There was another grunt from the Dwarf. She thought they must be long-tested companions; they had a way of communicating as much with tone as with words that she associated with very old married couples. The Dwarf continued on his way, still studying the stone under his feet, and did not immediately mark that his companion was frozen in place, his clear eyes no longer on the buildings of the city but following the path of something high in the air. When he did notice he swung around sharply, his features hard as if he expected something had forcibly detained his comrade, his axe coming quickly into his hands. The scowl of a fighter faded into puzzlement as he could view nothing that stayed the Elf. "Legolas?"

The sound of the other's voice was so quiet she almost didn't hear it. "Look, Gimli. The gulls."

The Dwarf also gazed up at the birds riding the air currents over the highest points of Minas Tirith before turning his face to study his companion, his expression (what she could make out of it through the beard) concerned. But he did not give voice to his troublesome thoughts, whatever they may have been. Instead he leaned on his axe and spoke with forced lightness. "Come, Legolas. We must find this Prince Imrahil that Aragorn wants to meet, and perhaps gather news of the hobbits from him while we are at it."

"I am anxious about them as well." But the sea birds held his gaze, and he made no move toward his companion.

"Eh, take your time," the Dwarf finally said gruffly. "'Tis better for me to go ahead. Between your endless songs and trying to keep pace with your long strides, it is hard for me to study the stonework properly. Stay you here until you have your fill of flying creatures, then catch up with me. I doubt I will be far ahead."

A crease of amusement appeared briefly beside the Elf's lips. He turned his head down, affection in his clear eyes. "Indeed, friend Gimli; knowing your passion for stones, I'm sure I can stay here for many hours and find you have gone but around the bend in all that time. Will you give each rock a name as you walk, and inquire to know its place of quarrying?"

"Of course not," huffed the Dwarf. " **That** I can tell with a glance."

The Elf laughed softly. The sound sent such shivers up and down her body. It was if a cold wind touched her, one that left heat in its wake rather than chills. 

Evidently the Elf's amusement did not so affect the Dwarf. Grumbling about Elves who didn't understand the first thing about the fundamentals of good stonework, the Dwarf Gimli continued on his way up the narrow street. He did indeed go more slowly without the Elf, often stopping entirely to closely view a mitered corner or a cobbled path, but the first bend was not very far away. Soon he was lost to sight. Releasing a breath she had not even known she was holding, she gathered her courage about her and stepped out of the shadows, moving down from the raised walkway to approach the Elf, who still stood rapt in the road and regarded the gulls with a steady and desperate eye.

If she thought him fair in the firelight, he was far beyond fair in the brightness of day. For all he had the general shape of a Man there was that about him, as there had been about the sons of Elrond, that made mistaking him as such impossible. Dared she address such a being? Well, it was that or continue to stare at him as if he were some sort of intricate carving that fascinated her. She took a deep breath, folded her hands in front of her, and ventured speech.

"There were such birds where I lived, before I came here. A stream ran through our land, and the birds seemed to delight in it though the sea itself was far away." He did not acknowledge her. Was he in some Elvish trance? "I suppose they were all shot by orcs for a quick meal."

"Many things of beauty have been destroyed by orcs," replied the Elf without looking at her.

She was piqued that he preferred the gulls to her, and replied tartly. "They were welcome to destroy their voices. Many a morn their squawking had me up hours before I was ready. I would have shot them myself if I knew how to use a bow. I hope you plan to populate Minas Tirith with birds that sing rather than squawk, Lord." Having spoken the words, she wished them unsaid; her brother-in-law had often commented, not favorably, on her acid tongue.

He swung his eyes to her, his clear eyes wide, and she felt his gaze upon her for the first time. Whatever spell the gulls wove upon him broke. His mouth quirked slightly, then the Elf smiled that genuine smile that first attracted her attention. He folded his arms around his great bow, holding it against his chest, his head tipping to one side as he looked at her. "I suppose they do not have the most musical of voices. Yet their cries speak to me of the sea, and for one of my kind that is the sweetest of music."

"Not as sweet as your singing earlier, Lord Elf."

He nodded his head in thanks, the smile still lingering on his mouth, but his gaze went beyond her, toward the path his companion traveled. Soon he would take his leave, and she might never again have a chance for his attention. She would have to speak. _How in the name of the Valar do I do this? 'My Lord, you must be weary, would you like to lay down?' No, even that's too subtle. Bold; you must be bold. It doesn't matter if he thinks you a consummate hussy. Nothing matters except--_

She ventured a step closer, too close for courtesy, and lightly laid her fingers on the sliver of exposed skin of his forearm, above the archery guard that protected his wrist. That brought his gaze back to her. He inclined away slightly, as if he was the one who accidentally transgressed, but she hardened her nerves and followed the movement, just for a moment leaning full into him before he took a big step back and she nearly stumbled without his support. 

And, oh, did she have his attention now. His fathomless gray eyes were locked onto her countenance, and what was in them she could not read. She tried to step close to him again, but he planted the bow between them like a shield and she was forced to hold her ground. "What do you want?"

__

Bold, she reminded herself. "Lay with me."

He regarded her steadily, his expression lacking the smirking speculation she would expect from a Man, but yet unreadable. Perhaps he was used to being so accosted -- and a stray thought remarked that she would not be surprised if it were so. "Why do you ask this of me?" The words were softly spoken.

She could hardly tell him the truth, yet there was something she could say that wasn't quite a lie. She wrung her hands unconsciously with the stress of the conversation (and, had she but known it, her discomfort did a great deal to soften the heart of the one she approached). "I had never seen one of your kind before yesterday. There are none more alive, I think. It has been a hard siege and I -- I would feel alive again."

His expression smoothed and he gave a small nod, as if that were a reason he could accept. "I do not feel the passage of time as Men do, nor the press of mortality. And yet..." He paused, and when he did continue, he spoke more to himself than to her. "...I have been sore afraid more than once on my journey." Then he gave a small shake and brought himself back to her, and when he spoke again his voice was not unkind.

"Lady," he said, "I thank you greatly, but I have no need of the comfort you offer." She clenched her small fists at the humiliation of it, thinking he mocked her, and his face gentled. "If you are so sure it is what you need, however, I will not deny you."

__

Success. She crossed her arms across her stomach and hoped she wasn't going to be violently ill.

"How are you called?" 

She hesitated.

"Was that a hard question?"

"Torrey," she answered finally, which was true enough. Unable to pronounce her full name, her younger brother shortened it, and still teased her with it when they were both long into adulthood. He had died in the retreat across the river, felled by an orc arrow even as it appeared they had gotten safely away. One more reason she had to do this...

He lay one hand over his breast, in what she took to be a greeting among his kind. "I am Legolas. Torrey, this is a poor place for a tryst." He still regarded her with steady eyes that hid his thoughts, waiting for her to make the next move. She could turn away, honor intact, and he would not stay her...

__

...And spend the rest of a too-long life sitting at the hearth of my husband's brother ...

"Come with me." She held out a hand to him, but he did not take it. Instead he unstrung his great bow and tucked it across his back, then stood silently waiting. It seemed he would follow rather than walk with her. Turning, she led the way through the narrow paths, having to glance over her shoulder now and again to see if he were still there, for he did not speak and his footsteps were unnaturally silent. When she reached the building where the officers were quartered she had another uncomfortable moment; what would she do or say should she meet one of the soldiers in the halls? Whether it was the early hour or just fate being unusually kind, that was not a situation she had to wrestle with. With Legolas ever a silent step behind her, they made it to the second floor without needing to greet anyone. Once she opened the door to her rooms he passed her, walking quickly through doors and scanning the premises with a warrior's caution. She followed him when he entered the bedroom, and realized there were clear signs that a man had lived here, and recently. The Elf, however, made to the open window and looked out. He sighed, and then closed the shutters, shutting out the early morning light. "My friend Gimli would be pleased," he said dryly, turning to her. "You have an excellent view of many rocks."

She stared at him with wide eyes. A faint shimmer enclosed him, as if what little light in the room rushed to cling to him. She again thought of some intricate living sculpture that one could watch for hours without tiring. "I cannot stay long, Torrey," he prompted her, and she felt her mind come back to the present as if she just awoken from a dream. He was still leaving everything up to her, as if he could sense the conflict in her mind. She had a brief thought that she had chosen well, then she took a steadying breath and went to him, leaning against him again as she had in the street. This time he accepted her weight, yielding under it and bracing his back against the wall. His hands came up, but held her only loosely by the shoulders. Even now, she felt she could pull back and he would release her. 

Finally, as she made no retreat, he moved one hand enough to stroke the back of her neck lightly. His long fingers combed through her hair, so much thicker and darker than his. "You shine," he murmured.

She glanced down at the hand against her shoulder, and wondered what it was that he meant. If anything shone in the gloom of her room it was the one before her. 

Gently he wrapped himself around her. His embrace was neither warm nor cold. She had the queer thought that, even though it was bright daylight outside, starlight had taken physical form in her arms. She shivered, and he gave a wordless murmur that soothed her to stillness. She thought Elves merely fair, long-lived Men. She was beginning to wonder if they were something far, far different. Her dry humor briefly resurfaced-- _I'm about to find out..._ She lifted her lips to his, and although she did not stop thinking, exactly, what thoughts she did have in the next space of time were fragmented and imprecise.

She could not say if he took any pleasure at all, for he was silent throughout and the smooth skin under her hands did not warm or flush or dampen, although there came a point where she paid no attention to what he might or might not be feeling himself. He held her close when they were done, smoothing back her hair as she struggled for breath and wondered if her heart would pound out of her chest. His cool lips touched her forehead. "Sweet," he murmured. She turned her face into his neck and cried hot tears of shame, not for the act so much but for having never felt with her husband what she had just felt with this stranger. He made no move to disengage until her tears quieted, then he kissed her forehead again before pulling away. She sat up in bed, watching him dress as the sense of being in a dream again took hold of her mind. It did not fade as he bent over her and touched cool fingers to her cheek. "Try to be at peace, little one." He dropped a kiss against the crown of her head, then opened the shutters and, although they were on the second floor, vaulted lightly out the window. Such was her state of mind that she simply accepted that he somehow floated down and landed lightly on the hard ground. Then she shook her head, reminded herself there were several levels of balconies and other outcrops even a Man could hop down, and abruptly crashed back into the present.

She pressed a hand against her stomach, speculating. It was a lot to ask of just one time. Thoughts of defeat crowded her mind, and her head fell forward. Rubbing her forehead, she wondered if the Rider of Rohan who had been so attentive had been discharged. He had not been damaged in such a way that his ability to perform would be impaired.

__

What have I become? Sighing, she rose, and dressed, and went to the Houses of Healing, there to hear a lecture from Ioreth since she had not brought the cloth bandages as she had promised to do. With the ease of much practice, she shut her ears to the old women's long-winded words as she set about her rounds. The young Rider, she noted, was indeed gone, hopefully returned to his unit and not dead in the night of a sudden fever. In truth, there were fewer patients than she expected for so soon after a battle, and those that remained appeared in improving health so it was not as if some dread disease had suddenly ripped through her ward.

She was at the far end of the ward tending to the slops bucket (another in a long list of new experiences this past week, she thought dryly) when a whisper swept like a breeze through the room. "Look, the King; the King." She turned sharply, but all she saw was the flutter of a gray cloak before the closing of a door cut off her view. "That wasn't him," growled one who had a better view of the door. "He doesn't have hair like that! You mistake the cloak for the man."

"The **King** , you said?"

"He was here long hours, helping with those covered in the Black Breath," one of the wounded told her, his young face overlaid with awe. "He and the Elven lords stayed for much of the night. It must have been just after you left."

__

So there really **is** a King, she thought in such wonder she forgot to upbraid fate for bringing the sons of Elrond to the Houses of Healing even as she looked over the wall of the city to behold her own fire-gilded doom. But she did not have much time for wonder in the long day, for although her charges were fewer in number there were still far too many of them, and some were yet in dire straits. It was late when she returned to her quarters, her mind so over-tired that it seemed empty of all thought.

She was in the bedroom, pulling pins out of her hair and contemplating where she would find the strength to struggle out of her dress when her tired mind finally noted the shutters were open, and there was a soft glow in the room her unlit lamp could not be causing. She turned, too weary to be surprised, and simply accepted his presence. He moved towards her slowly, giving her time as before to reject or accept, but when she held out her hands he grasped them and pulled her into his embrace. It seemed there was to be more than just the one time. He was less tentative with his strength, perhaps now understanding that mortal women were not so fragile, and she was less passive as well. The dark helped, she decided when she could form thoughts again, although 'dark' was evidently a relative term where Elves were concerned. The strange glimmer that coated his skin didn't fade with effort. So she kept her eyes closed.

Her husband had been inclined to roll over and go to sleep when done, and in truth she never minded for she was much the same. Elves, it appeared, were different in that as well. Every time she started to drift off there was another soft touch from her partner, a stroke of fingers against her waist or neck that had nothing of lust about it. Finally she cocked open one eye to cautiously glance at him, finding his gaze steady on her face. "I did not expect you here." 

He touched the bridge of her nose, and drew a line with his finger to its tip. "I did not expect to be here," he told her, honestly. "But I saw you in the Houses of Healing, just for an instant. I almost called to you, but there was somewhere else I had to be, and I did not want to bring you unwanted questions."

He wore a gray cloak... "Some thought you were the King."

Legolas smiled slightly. "He is darker, in more ways than one." The smile faded, and again he touched her face, brushing his knuckles carefully across her cheek. "There are all levels of horrors in war. I imagine you witnessed your share there."

She thought not of the young lads who died while in her care, but the man she had seen off only a few days earlier, and tears again welled in her eyes. "Shhh." Legolas slipped his arms around her, and she once more accepted the comfort he offered, not quite crying but sniffling against his shoulder. Even in the aftermath of passion, his skin was cool to the touch. As if his mind kept pace with hers, he murmured, "Do you know, touching you is like touching fire. I feel like I hold embers in my hands."

__

The cold can also burn, she thought, but she said nothing and he, too, fell into silence. Although he never stopped his distracting touches, her weariness was great and she eventually slept.

He was gone when she awoke, and she could have believed it nothing but a sweet, vivid dream except that his scent was all around her, on the covers, on her skin. She went again into the Houses of Healing, and still found enough to keep her well occupied into the night. There was much talk around her, about the new King, Faramir's ascension to the Stewardship, the armies outside the gates who were not dispersing to their separate countries despite the victory in the battle. Speculation abounded about the continued presence of so many armed men, and some even said that still more men were coming to gather in the Fields, but she was weary of even the talk of war and, as she did with Ioreth, she closed her ears to much of what was said.

Legolas was not there when she returned to her rooms, although she searched carefully for him, even looking behind doors. For all they glowed in the dark, she thought Elves could probably be invisible enough when they wanted to be. She took to her bed once convinced he was not present, and her sleep was dreamless. She awoke with his hand on her shoulder. Sleepy, she slid toward the wall to make room for him but he laughed his soft laugh and shook his head. "Up, up! The moon will set soon, and the stars are out, such stars as have not been seen in Gondor for many a year. Up!" He turned and was out the window in a flash. She considered letting him go in favor of sleep, but did not want to lose the opportunity and so rose and dressed, eyeing the narrow window but choosing the door. He was moving back and forth on the walkway, his eyes turned toward the gate that led to the lower circles. Had he been a Man, she would have described it as pacing; but he was not a Man, and there was nothing of nervousness or impatience about the movements. He did not touch her, but hurried her through the different gates. She pulled the cloak about her face, trying not to think about the type of woman who would walk out of Minas Tirith in the middle of the night in the company of a foreign soldier be he Man or Elf, but none of the guards so much as glanced at her and there would be no chance any recognized her from this night. 

He guided her to an area next to the city's walls, a flat space with what must have been the only untrammeled greenery left in Gondor. He spread his gray cloak on the ground, and wishing for the comfort of her own bed she started to lay upon it, but he shook his head and pulled her over him. "I want to see the stars." She draped across him, and he kissed her softly, playing with her hair until he managed to pull out all the ties and catch the thick strands up in his slender, strong fingers. He laughed as he held a handful off of her neck. "The stars here are so bright I can still see them through this," he told her. She wasn't sure if he was insulting her or not; Men considered her hair to be one of her best features, she knew, but compared to the soft fluidity of his own locks the texture must seem coarse and rough. He turned his head and buried it in the heavy strands, inhaling slowly, so it must not have been too horrible to him. Then he went to work with his clever hands, unlacing her bodice and her other garments until there was nothing in the way of his designs. She thought that coupling under the stars must be a powerful experience for an Elf, for he cried out at the height of his pleasure and his body still trembled when he held her afterwards. She had never heard a pleasured sound out of him before. She pillowed her head on his shoulder, thinking, _if not before, then this time, surely this time--_ and nearly missed what he said to her. "What?" she asked, her voice thick with spent passion and encroaching sleep.

"The muster is complete," he told her quietly, his hands moving restlessly on her back. "We march tomorrow. We go to Mordor."

She felt nothing more than a certain melancholy acceptance that this fair one, too, would soon have his life snuffed out. "Why did we resist, if our men must now seek their doom elsewhere rather than finding it here?" 

"I cannot say why things are the way they are," Legolas replied after a long silence. "I can tell you only that the hard victory won here was but a skirmish. The war must now be taken to the Enemy, or the sacrifices of your people will be for naught." His long fingers trailed down her arms. He caught up one of her hands and pressed it to his lips. "I did not want you to think I lightly went off without any consideration of you."

"But even should you survive, I will not see you again," she finished for him.

He did not deny it. And, for that, she liked him the more.

He kissed her forehead, the back of each slim hand, the tip of her nose. "I will not forget you."

"Then you are better than many a Man," was her tart reply.

He smiled at her in the faint starlight, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I hope so," he murmured in amusement. "The memory of Elves are everlasting, Torrey. As long as I draw breath, you will have an honored place in my memory, one no other daughter of Man will share."

The words were sweet to her, but even so she hardened her heart against them. She had what she needed from him. She was sure of it. Whether it be death or life eternal, his fate was not her concern. She had her own future to consider.

Next chapter: The Truth Will Out

\------------

If you wonder at the timing (and I don't blame you, it's a bit tricky), I inserted the entire first tryst between these two paragraphs. I took the "at length" part of the second paragraph to mean Legolas and Gimli took their time, and even detoured as needed. ^___^

 

""They need more gardens," said Legolas. "The houses are dead, and there is too little here that grows and is glad. If Aragorn comes into his own, the people of the Wood shall bring him birds that sing and trees that do not die."

"At length they came to the Prince Imrahil, and Legolas looked at him and bowed low; for he saw that here indeed was one who had elven-blood in his veins."


	4. The Truth Will Out, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lady of Gondor decides that only Legolas will do for her ... but what is it she really wants?

Much which happened in the two weeks before the armies returned to Minis Tirith dramatically altered the present and future of Middle Earth, but little of it involved the one who termed herself Torrey before Legolas. She continued on as she had, only experiencing one moment of disquiet on the day that the armies marched for the Enemy's stronghold. Late to the Houses of Healing, she was subjected to Ioreth's sharp stare and sharper tongue. "Lord Hiranion was here," said the old dame. "He has only just arrived from his lands. When he found his brother's house shut up, he sought him and you here."

"What did you say to him?"

"That he had better not be such a laggard as to miss this next battle as well."

That brought a smile to her lips. The stretching of her skin felt so odd she wondered when she had last smiled.

Although the weather was fair and the sun shone bright in Gondor, the residents of Minas Tirith went about as if gripped in endless sleep, for even with their new King leading the armies few held out any hope of success for the strange mission that the Captains of the West embraced. She busied herself by tending the needs of the remaining wounded in her ward under Ioreth's direction, until the first winged messengers arrived from the battle fields of Mordor, crying that the Dark Lord had been overthrown for all time and the victory belonged to the returned King of Gondor. There was much rejoicing in the City, but with the realization that life, not death, was to be their fate subtle changes began to occur among the people. She first became aware of it the day after the victory was proclaimed, when she arrived at the Houses of Healing and was addressed as "my lady" by those who had no trouble with her name before. The day after that, Ioreth met her as she came in the door, and told her to set aside her pails and potions. "It is not suitable for you to be here, my lady," said the old dame who had spent most of the previous month calling her 'missy'. "Lord Faramir is much recovered. He has heard you are here, and is asking for you. Shall I let him know when you will be ready to attend him?"

She was affronted at this dismissal, and it showed in her sharp reply. "If you have no more use for me, then I am ready now."

"They say that beauty is as beauty does, my lady, and it may well be true, but you need to make yourself presentable before you go into the Steward's presence."

She stared at Ioreth in disbelief for a moment before exploding into protests, but whatever else may have been true about Ioreth, she was one who knew everyone's proper place in Middle Earth, and the old dame would not relent. So she was forced to realize barriers knocked down by the urgency of wartime were quick to rebuild. Fuming she turned from the Houses of Healing; fuming she went to her rooms in the officers' quarters, fearing that soon she would be politely evicted from there as well. She threw off her work clothes and pulled out stiff brocades that she never wore except at court, flinching at the harsh texture against her skin. Well, perhaps being dependent upon her brother-in-law would not be so different, she thought grimly. It was simply the exchange of one form of cage for another.

_And are you prepared for the sort of duties he may require of you in return for your bed and board?_

She shivered, and readied for her audience with Faramir.

When she descended from her husband's quarters she was astounded further to find Hurin, the Tower officer who held the keys to Minas Tirith, waiting for her with a small escort. He bowed low when he saw her. "Lady, forgive my neglect as late, but the times have been difficult. I am to escort you to the Steward."

"Hurin, I can escort myself. I've only been doing so every day for the past month."

"The times have changed, Lady," he said, as primly as if Ioreth herself spoke through him.

She was speechless. Which was fortunate; what words she might have formed at that moment would not have done much honor to her husband's house, although he, personally, would have convulsed with mirth. She bit her lip; he was no longer here to forestall any criticism of her hoydenish ways with a casual drop of his hand to his sword hilt. _There is a good reason we both hated this place so much, and I am now well reminded of it._ She suffered a further indignity when she was handed up onto the broad back of an old mare meant only to ease the ride of city ladies between gates. Even in her heavy, stiff formal dress, she would have arrived faster if she walked to the Houses of Healing. But she grit her teeth and bore the affront in silence, knowing any bid for independence had to be carefully played, and this was neither the place nor the players who needed to be involved.

Faramir, they told her, was in the tiered gardens of the Houses of Healing, a place where ambulatory patients sometimes took their ease as they recovered spirit and strength. She was shown to the entryway with all courtesy, something she was hard put to respond to with anything other than a snarl. The Steward of Gondor sat underneath a shade tree with a book in his hand, and near him was a fair woman with long golden hair. It was obvious from her pallor that she was but freshly risen from a sick bed herself, but Faramir appeared hale despite his recent wounds and, upon sighting her, sprang to his feet with a glad cry.

"Terisda! I hope I find you well."

His answer was a glare. It would have been much more than a glare, but she was unsure of the unknown lady and did not want the stranger to think it was common to begin a conversation with the Lord Steward by suggesting he was a blind dunderhead.

Faramir grinned at her. "I see Minas Tirith agrees with you as well as ever." His expression became somber, and when he spoke, it was on a subject she had sought long to avoid. "They tell me they know nothing of Hirgon, my kinsman and good friend, but that his lady has performed valiantly in the Houses of Healing, doing the work of ten and staying long into the night."

Terisda still did not wish to speak of her husband. She shrugged, which made her dress crackle in alarming ways, and tried to say what she could to turn the subject. "I am unskilled in arms, my Lord Faramir, so I sought to be useful where I could."

"I never thought you to be that skilled in healing." His tone was dry and she found herself smiling for perhaps the second time since her husband's departure. "I took an orc blade to the scalp near your lands once, as I recall, and you were anything but gentle in binding it up."

"Most of my patients squirmed less than you did," she retorted. "I wasn't much use at first, but I could hold a bucket where need be, and when it was found I didn't swoon so easily as others I was given such tasks as could be quickly learned. I will never be a healer, but I can now patch up a wounded man well enough so he will survive until a healer get to him, and a man already tended to is not very likely to die because of my care."

"I am glad to hear it. The only reason I do not bear a scar is because Hirgon redressed the wound as soon as we were out of sight." He smiled again at her, and although his next words were gentle, they were to her as a dagger. "Terisda, where is my cousin?"

Her throat closed so tightly she could not speak at first, but Faramir took her hand and looked at her with pity, and that brought her out of her silence for pity was something she could not abide. "I do not know, Faramir. He was sent with the Red Arrow to bring the Rohirrim to our aid, and I have heard naught of him since."

At that, the woman who sat silent turned her head and spoke in the accent of the Horseriders. "I did not remember the name, but an errand rider of Gondor did come before Theoden-King with the Red Arrow in his hand." She stood, and Terisda saw she had one arm bound with many bandages, held in a linen sling. "Well met Terisda, lady of Minas Tirith. I am Eowyn, a shield maiden of Rohan, although for now I am forced to lay here and let the men fight without me."

"I am of Ithilien rather than Minas Tirith, Lady, which is why my manners are sometimes rough. I remember when they brought you in. I may have set your arm, although in truth I don't recall. I worked on many both during and after the battle, and it all blurs together."

"Much of the battle is the same in my mind, and yet that which I would rather forget is the clearest memory of all." The Lady regarded her with a steadfast eye that held a spark of irony. "I wish you had tended me these last few days. I am surrounded by women who are definitely swooners." She spoke then in a practical tone that eschewed pity. "If your Hirgon is the bearer of the Red Arrow that came to our court, then I can give you this much. He did not stay the night as Theoden-King bade him, but took a fresh horse and rode at once to tell Gondor of our coming. After that, I know not his fate." 

"There are still messengers straggling in," Faramir said. "There are even some troops from the outlands who are only now arriving despite answering our call with all possible speed."

"He was sent to Rohan, lord." She glanced toward Eowyn, hoping that her gaze lacked accusation. "And the Riders came."

"Finding the way blocked, he may have turned aside." Despite the words, the knowledge was in his eyes.

"Aye, Lord," said Terisda, but she did not pretend to be hopeful. And while she felt again the resurgent anger at unkind fate, she also thought of Hirgon and what he loved in life.

"Faramir," she said, "there is one more thing I must speak of with you."

\---------------------

She was subdued as Hurin and his men led the gentle mare through the streets, although they did not mark it as any different than the furious silence she maintained on the way to meet Faramir in the Houses of Healing. She stirred to speech only once, when the road branched to the noble houses and they appeared ready to turn toward them. "I will not open the house until my husband's return, or until the King's." They looked at her with pity that she had to grit her teeth to endure, and bore her back to the barracks of the officers. So Terisda bought herself some little time.

Once in her quarters, she stripped off the brocade gown, leaving it stiff and upright in the middle of the floor, as if it needed no wearer to fill it out. She stood before the glass in the outer quarters, the one Hirgon would check himself in as he walked out the door, to make sure his doublet was regulation length and that his sword was buckled aright, details his frontier upbringing made it easy for him to forget. She placed her hands on the polished surface, her hands positioned so that her pale visage was framed between fingers and thumb, and stared at the reflection she saw there.

_So this is what the face of a faithless liar looks like._

Hirgon would not have wanted either his lands or her person to fall into the dubious care of his brother, she told herself, but the reflection's expression soured into one of skepticism and she turned from it. She **did** know well enough what Hirgon wanted in life, she insisted to herself defiantly.

_He wanted to see Ithilien cleansed of fell things. He wanted children, his own, just not until the land was free. He did not want to die, even for duty's sake. But he was ever a poor gambler. Did he not leave half his purse with you when he went out with Faramir's warriors? He knew he would lose it all the first night by the campfire. He gambled that duty and honor would offer its own protection. The only thing 'honored' now is his memory._

And she would betray the memory of a worthy man by foisting the babe of another into his line. Indeed, all the honor of Hirgon's house had died with him.

It may yet be that she was not with child. She felt no different, although she was uncertain of when the changes would start. Terisda put her hands across her stomach, but perceived no alteration under her hands. Even if her body was now quickening, it would be a while before it was obvious. Perhaps she could stall until she returned to their lands in Ithilien. Once there, child or no, she would be difficult to evict.

_Deceit on deceit, Terisda. Hirgon would not recognize you._

Perchance she should speak frankly with Faramir. He was also a kinsman, albeit more by marriage than blood, and although it would be unusual, she could seek succor in his house. Yet he was unmarried, and while that would have been no great problem if he still led the frontier forces, with the death of both Boromir and Denethor he was tied to the City and the rules which now bound him were tighter. And she would have to tell him the truth, which, after their recent conversation, would be a hard thing. She had hedged her words with simple cautions, saying she had never been with child before and therefore could not be sure, but Faramir brushed that aside and was sincere with his hopes and goods wishes. All the while Eowyn watched her with those deep blue eyes, and Terisda was sure there was a woman's understanding of her game there. At that moment she would have gladly thrown herself off the highest wall of Minas Tirith, but the falsehood was in place, and she must see it through.

\----------------------

All of Minas Tirith turned out for the ceremony that celebrated the return of the King. Great tents covered the Fields. Streamers flew from every high point, and the White Tower shone in the sun. It was, by all accounts, one of the finest and most profound events ever witnessed in all of Gondor, as Hurin surrendered his keys, as Faramir tried to yield his office but was told to remain, as Gandalf took the ancient crown and placed on the dark locks of Elendil's heir.

Terisda did not witness it, even though Faramir came to her rooms and entreated her to attend. She pleaded weariness, and conscious of her supposed condition, Faramir patted her hand and told her that he would bring her a full report later. She did not really need it; the racket made by the townspeople kept her well informed of the proceedings, although there were moments when the hullabaloo was so great she was sure the battle of the Fields had been rejoined. Faramir was as good as his word and presented himself at her door a few hours later. She was a little surprised when he brought with him several ladies of the court for decorum's sake. Being forced to curb her rebellious tongue around one who used to not mind her plain speech did not make her uncertain mood any easier, and their conversation was awkward. He kissed her fingers in parting. "You will have to re-open your house now," he told her, not having any idea how her mind rebelled at that pronouncement. "With the King's return, many of the noble people are back as well. It will seem odd to them if you remain alone in the barracks."

Terisda was glad to close the door after him. She stood in the middle of the antechamber with clenched fists, and her thoughts of the new Steward were not entirely kind. She did not remember him as so pompous when he and his men camped on their lands between orc raids, but the City changed people. She could not wait to be gone.

But she would have to meet with the King before she left, and buy herself the time needed to get to her lands. And, if she was not with child, she would have to take the steps necessary to remedy the situation. That thought filled her with a repugnance she had not felt in the numbness that consumed her after the battle. _I should have gone for quantity rather than quality_ , she told herself with a shred of black humor. It might be more difficult to find strangers interested in a quick tumble now. Even the most base of soldiers felt new stirrings of chivalry that the dark threat of Mordor had long buried in their hearts; if she striped naked in the street, they would be most likely to pat her on the head and offer to escort her home.

The day after the crowning of the King, Hurin came to her door to inform her that Lord Hiranion awaited her convenience below, and so Terisda was made aware that her brother-in-law had finally tracked her down. She told Hurin she was too over-wrought for a meeting, and as she hoped Hiranion, whom she was sure acquitted himself well before the black gate of Mordor, quailed at the thought of a hysterical woman and left without argument. There were tokens from him delivered the next morning, and a letter she stared at long before opening. The words within were fair and courteous, assurances both that he would do all he could to find news of the missing Hirgon ... and that she need not worry herself overmuch, for he understood well his duty toward all of his brother's subjects should he find that he was the new head of his family's house.

She burned the letter and sent word to Faramir that she was ready to meet with the King.

The obligations of Stewardship kept Faramir from her for a little while, but too soon a missive arrived. In it, Faramir wrote that he had explained her situation to the King, and Elessar the First was so anxious to talk with her that he had made time between other meetings that very evening. Sighing, Terisda dragged out the dress finery she loathed, braided and pinned up her hair, and applied the paints typical of court ladies to her face. The image that stared back at her was as foreign to her as her first sighting of the sons of Elrond. She screwed up her eyes and stuck out her tongue at her reflection, and although she then had to spend several minutes repairing the creases in the paint around her lids, she felt the better for her self-mocking moment. 

Faramir himself arrived to escort her, and handed her up to a gelding with considerably more spirit than Huron's fat mare. Terisda enjoyed the slight battle of wills as the gelding continually tried to take the bit into its mouth while Faramir spoke to her of the upcoming meeting. "It will be informal. I've told the King that you are too wearied to be around many people, but you must speak with him. I've seen Hiranion as well. I wasn't sure what you had told him, so I kept silent."

"I've only just received a letter from him," Terisda said, and her dislike of the subject made her tone very flat 

Faramir cocked his head at her, and spoke with mild rebuke. "He is looking hard for news of his brother, and he is in a quandary of uncertainty as to his role. He must be told both the good and the bad, Terisda."

_And I wonder which news he will consider 'good',_ Terisda thought viciously, but she schooled her expression into polite acceptance. Indeed, she acknowledged to herself that the thoughts were unworthy. Neither Faramir nor Hirgon himself understood her antipathy towards Hirgon's brother, although Hirgon respected it and made sure their contacts were brief. And, with his precise sense of what was proper, she did not doubt for one moment that Hiranion would be true to his word and support his brother's heir. If there were no heir, she did not doubt he would do his duty by her as well.

But she also had no doubt he would expect her to behave like a proper lady in his house, and would take steps to ... _discipline_ her if she did not. Becoming the silent, mousy, proper creature her mother had been, that Hiranion's own wife became after their marriage, would be worse than death. She had been very fortunate in her husband, for she had been given the pick of the brothers and without knowing much about either she had chosen Hirgon as much for the lands he held near her father's in Ithilien as the warm light in his eyes when he looked at her. It was only once wed that she discovered his good humor and his tolerance, so that both her speech and manner grew more free after her marriage than they had ever been before. After years of living unfettered, to go back to what was expected of a woman of genteel upbringing was not to be endured.

She was within the walls of the King's dwelling when Faramir thought to tell her that Hiranion would also be present at this meeting. Even with the layers of paint upon her face, her surprise was clear to the Steward. "This does concern each of you," Faramir reminded her, "and the King is overwhelmed with delegations from near and far. 'Tis better for him to deal with all the details of this matter at the same time." He smiled, and for a moment she could see in the courtier the field commander who sometimes bivouacked on their lands. "You can't possibly fear Hiranion!" he said lightly. "You are worth ten of him, Terisda." 

Though he spoke in jest, the words made her straighten her shoulders and lift her chin high. "Very true," she responded, and the Steward laughed as he ushered her into one of the council chambers of the King.

So that when the King beheld the Lady Terisda for the first time, with the light of determination in her eye and the pride in her carriage, he thought of the Queens of old who once ruled as men ruled, and knew that, in one Gondorian line at least, the ancient blood ran true. For her part, as Terisda dropped into a court curtsy she surreptitiously swept her gaze across the room to see who else was there, so that she noticed, among others, the sons of Elrond sitting at a table in one corner and in another a small form that she knew was, at last, a Halfling. As she raised her face, she saw Hiranion was indeed there, standing tall before the King as he turned to greet her, his expression as well-schooled as ever. But her gaze only fell upon him for an instance before her eyes went elsewhere and her blood ran cold.

For behind the King stood Legolas. 


	5. The Truth Will Out, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lady of Gondor decides that only Legolas will do for her ... but what is it she really wants?

For a moment her heart quailed and she nearly turned and ran from the room, except that her legs wobbled so she couldn't even rise from her curtsy. She had never fainted before in her life, not even after being thrown from her horse that one time when she had been dizzy for two days and Hirgon refused to leave her side because she kept walking into walls, but the blood was pounding in her ears and she knew she might just pitch forward into an inelegant heap. Her distress was obvious, painted face or no, for Faramir murmured her name in concern and Hiranion took a step toward her, well-bred alarm on his features. A tall figure loomed over her, and strong hands grasped hers. Startled, Terisda focused on the face before her. "Lady, you are not well," the King said.

  


She stared at him with blank eyes, and suddenly came back to herself. "I am well enough, sire," she said, and her voice was stronger than she thought it would be. "I was merely overcome for a moment. It has been long years since we had a King in Gondor." All the while she was aware of the doom that stood only a few feet away, who, if he recognized her, could undo her game. _But he won't recognize me, he can't recognize me, I couldn't recognize myself --_ And so her unseeing gaze remained fixed on the King, as if there were no other person in the room.

  


The King lifted her to her feet, only releasing her when she made to pull her hands away. She folded them in front of herself, clenching her fingers together so tightly they hurt, and by sheer force of will did not give into the temptation to peek over his shoulder. Hiranion stepped close to her, cupping his strong fingers under her elbow for support, and although she no longer was in any danger of collapse, short of shaking him off there wasn't much she could do to distance herself from him. Any extraneous movement on her part risked her eyes going elsewhere, and she was very afraid she would give herself away if she locked eyes for one second with Legolas. She held as still as she could.

  


"I feel for the uncertainty you are both experiencing," the King told her, "and yet Faramir informs me out of this sorrow there is some portent of joy."

  


"There may be, my lord," she answered faintly, making sure her gaze remained fastened to his craggy visage. "I only suspect; I cannot yet know." 

  


If the King thought that a strange answer from a woman who worked within the Houses of Healing with some of the best mid-wives in Gondor he gave no indication, but Hiranion started and gave Terisda a sharp, assessing look, as if coming to his own conclusions about her uncharacteristic weakness, and his fingers on her tightened. Terisda winced faintly at his grip, but would not turn her eyes from the King's face as Elessar spoke to her gently. "I only just missed meeting your husband, for he came to Rohan shortly after I took my own path to Gondor. I grieve that I could not have known one willing to brave such perils. But there is one here who did meet with him that day." The King turned and made a gesture toward the Halfling. "Merry, tell the lady what you told me."

  


The Halfling stepped forward, and bowed low before her. "Meriadoc of the Shire am I, late esquire of Theoden-King and the household of Meduseld." His voice was not at all child-like, and when she finally turned her face from the King to look more closely upon the small one she saw laughter lines etched in the corner of his eyes, and the back of his hands and his large bare feet carried far more hair than that of any youth. And he repeated to them what Eowyn had said earlier, that Hirgon had come before the King of Rohan with the Red Arrow. It was no news to Faramir or Terisda, but Hiranion had only heard rumors of his brother's mission, and this was the first confirmation for him. 

  


But Meriadoc added one detail that, again, nearly undid her. "I felt as if he was a friend as soon as I saw him, because he reminded me very much of Boromir," the Halfling said, and she was suddenly glad of Hiranion's hand under her arm because the words brought the face of Hirgon strongly into her mind, and it was an image she had been trying not to dwell on for nigh on a month.

  


Faramir murmured, "Yes, they were very alike in looks," and his own voice was sorrowful.

  


"Boromir met his death trying to defend me and a kinsman of mine. I would be very sorry -- " he caught himself, awkwardly. "Well, I mean; if I can be of any more help -- "

  


There was silence in the hall, and Terisda felt all eyes were on her, perhaps to judge whether or not she was going to collapse again. But she took in a breath, then put her head back to look into the King's face, and spoke directly to him. "Sire, I'm aware you wish all to remain in Minas Tirith for a time, but I need to return to our lands as quickly as possible. Finding the way blocked, Hirgon may have gone there."

  


"Lord Hiranion also suggested that his brother's skill in the Wild may have led him to seek his old homestead. Messengers have been dispatched to North Ithilien," replied Elessar. "They will also be able to report what damage has befallen the land during the Enemy's occupation. Your home may be much damaged, given how close it was to the Shadow and how long Orcs have had to work their foul work, though Faramir tells me that he and his Rangers were especially vigilant in that area, so do not despair."

  


Mentally she cursed the new King's foresight, but any small disquiet that may have shown on her face at finding that move blocked was covered by layers of court paint. She was very aware of Hiranion close by her side, and felt she had to get away in more ways than one. He had been too quiet for too long, and she found herself wondering what else he had said to the King before her arrival. So she played the one card she had, even knowing that, should the Elf recognize her, it might force him into a public denial of her. "Sire, what joy I have left in life will not be found here. It never has been. My heart is in the green fields and great trees of Ithilien. This city has ever been a cage to me. I will not have my child born in a cage, no matter how well appointed it is." _And now, if **he** speaks, am I undone..._

  


Hiranion took in a short breath, as if his thoughts on her unusual weakness had been confirmed. In the corner, one of the Elf lords stirred and made as if to speak, but a pained expression skipped across his face and he said nothing. Elessar glanced toward the two briefly, then turned his sharp gray eyes back to her. She tried to project the image of something frail and helpless. Faramir would have let her go rather than deal with a grieving woman, she knew, and so would Hiranion, but the King appeared made of sterner stuff that did not fear the volatility of a hysterical female. "Abide some little time yet, my lady," he said politely, but coming from the King it was an order and she knew it. "I have also sent messengers to some who may know more precisely Hirgon's fate. As soon as I have word from them, I will speak to you both again." He nodded in dismissal and turned from her, and for the first time Terisda dared glance toward Legolas. But the Elf was not where she last saw him, and she was forced to curtsey and withdraw with Faramir and Hiranion in attendance.

\---------------------

After Terisda left, the King went to the table where the two dark haired Elf lords sat and leaned one fist upon the wood surface, studying the siblings with a raised brow. "You have nothing to say to me?"

  


One, his eyes wide, shook his head with unusual violence. The other waved a languid hand. "What could we have to say, foster brother? As ever you handled a fraught situation with dignity and gentleness."

  


The King gave them both a steady stare, made a soft noise that might have been a well-bred skeptical snort, and strode from the room. After his departure, silence briefly reigned. Then one spoke through clenched teeth. "Unhand me, Elladan." The one addressed raised his hidden hand above the table, holding it innocently aloft. Rubbing a bruised thigh, his brother grumbled, "You could have just said, 'be silent'."

  


"And risk having someone say, 'be silent about what'? I think not, Elrohir."

  


"For those of us who see in both worlds, it is easy enough to end the speculation," retorted Elrohir. "She is suffering. Why prolong the pain of uncertainty?"

  


"I paid her little heed, I'm afraid. Legolas has had my sole attention these past ten minutes."

  


It was Elrohir's turn to raise his brows, and the look he gave his twin was irritated. "There are times I wonder about you. One so bright stands before you, and you're looking at **Legolas**?"

  


"Don't tell me the little water-bearer has attracted your attention." Elrohir flushed and did not speak; Elladan chuckled. "Tsk. I wondered when you'd become so fond of water. I never saw you leap off a horse so fast! Why would you seek a mate among the daughters of Men?"

  


"Given the doom you and I are all but decided upon, perhaps I feel the sacrifice required of one of our own kind would be far too great," replied Elrohir soberly. 

  


To that, Elladan had no response.

  


\----------------------  


  


Her heart was only beginning to slow its frantic pounding against her breast by the time they reached the horses, and she was sure that, under the paint, her skin was splotched with patches of parchment white and cherry red. She had never had the blood drain from her face nor rush back so many times in such a brief period. She belatedly became aware of Hiranion's hand still on her, and tried to pull away. He apparently mistook her jerk for the onset of a fainting spell, for his grip shifted to her upper arm as if to hold her up. "Sister, are you well?"

  
__

Do not call me that, she thought, but she answered politely enough. "I am tired from the siege, and the lack of news from Hirgon weighs upon me, but apart from such ailments of the spirit I am fine." She carefully tugged a bit, and he released her. Terisda grasped the edge of her saddle to mount, then belatedly remembered that a lady wasn't supposed to simply throw herself atop her horse, and little wonder because court clothes were likely to fatally entangle any lady who tried such a thing. Frustrated, she turned to Faramir. His mouth quirked, but thankfully he didn't comment on her silent request for aid.

  


To Terisda's further consternation Faramir, after handing her up onto the gelding, cited more meetings he needed to attend and relinquished her into the care of her brother-in-law. She tried to indicate with exaggerated pulls of her mouth and rolling of her eyes that she did **not** wish to be left alone with Hiranion. Faramir reached up and grasped her hand on the reins, and when she leaned over the horse's neck, he told her in a low voice, "You need to talk." Terisda bit her lip and walled in her anger. It was true; she had been childishly hiding from Hiranion. The loss of Hirgon was one they both shared. One they **all** shared, she reminded herself as Faramir turned away. Hirgon had been kinsman to the new Steward as well, and he had lost far too many of his kin in the battles against the Dark.

  


The two sat quietly in the darkened street. There were people about, on foot and on horse, but Terisda was intensely aware of Hiranion and it was as if he alone was present. Finally he reached over to her horse. She flinched slightly, but he merely took the reins that lay slack on the gelding's neck and wrapped them once around his fist. "Come," he said gently, "You are weary. I will take you to back to the house."

  


"We're at--" she started, then she had to stop and swallow. " **I'm** at the officer quarters."

  


"One must make do in a siege, but we are at peace now, Terisda. You can't stay there any longer." It was a flat statement of fact, and Terisda felt so strongly the chains of convention tighten that her breath caught. "I opened the house this afternoon, and had my men air it out. " 

  


"Of course you did," Terisda said wearily. She dropped her hands into her lap, and contemplated the reins wrapped around his fingers. Was it worth the effort to try and grab them back? All of her energy and fire had been left back in the court, it seemed. No, that wasn't true. Everything drained out of her the moment she glimpsed the Elf, and she was functioning on the absolute dregs of her emotional reserves.

  


Taking her silence for a different sort of uncertainty, "It should be comfortable enough until you call your servants back to you," Hiranion assured her, every inch the concerned lord, delicately adding that he was staying with his soldiers outside of the city, where he would remain until the female members of his household arrived. Reassured that she would not have to deal with him beyond the threshold she let him lead the gelding toward the houses of the Lords of Minas Tirith. "Of course, you can't stay there by yourself," he told her as the horses slowly clopped along the cobbled streets, "but it will be a few days yet before my wife arrives here so we will have to make do. She will be able to provide you with some ladies for your service."

  
__

Swooners all, I'm sure, she thought, and wondered if Eowyn needed another lady for her retinue. But even if Terisda's own rank did not exclude her from being an attendant to the foreign princess, the King of the Horseriders, Eomer, was in Minas Tirith. Shield maiden though she might be, with her brother present Eowyn lost what ever small bit of freedom she may have possessed in his absence. A woman alone was chattel. But a woman with a lord's heir in her belly could count on twenty years or so of liberty--

  


Yet if she could not produce a child in a reasonable amount of time, then Hiranion had complete disposal of her person. She risked a sidelong glance at him, but in the gathering darkness of the early evening she could see only a profile, one too much like Hirgon's. She dropped her eyes to her hands, clenched on her lap. He might even arrange another marriage for her, if he had no use for her himself. With no blood kin left to provide for her she had neither lands or money to offer, but she had bloodlines aplenty; once the requisite period of mourning was over, she would be a good match for anyone looking to improve their own line. _Something a Horse Rider would appreciate_ , she thought with a flicker of her old humor, and found herself wondering just briefly if the young Rider from her ward was still in Minas Tirith.

  


Hiranion was still considering matters of propriety. "I suppose we can hire some women from the Houses of Healing," he was musing as she again picked up the thread of his monologue. "With the war done, it is not as if they have anything of worth to do there. I'm sure their only remaining patients are malingering peasants."

  


And Terisda, who had worked hard to save more peasants than lords, found she had had enough. Had Hirgon been here, she would have told Hiranion that bluntly, but Hirgon was not here so she had to watch her tongue. "How do your interests at Linhir fare?" she asked, knowing that more than inquires after his wife or his children that would spark his interest. He brightened, and talked incessantly about commerce and the opening of Ithilien, the advantages of its many waterways and the value of its trees, until they came to the house.

  


He helped her down when she would have preferred to dismount herself, reminding her she had to be careful in her condition. In the half-light she studied his face carefully; she anticipated overt resentment from him at her news. "This must have been a surprise to you," she said, testing his reaction. "We had been married so long without issue--"

  


To her surprise he smiled, and his face gentled, and she realized with a guilty pang that, whatever his aspirations, Hiranion was genuinely happy over the prospect of his brother's child. "He must have been confident that he would finally return to Ithilien," he said, and she felt more guilty still. He read some of her discomfort in her body language. He took her hand in both of his and smiled down at her. "Do not concern yourself," he told her softly, and the lack of light and people made his tone more intimate, perhaps, than he meant. "Whatever comes of this, I will always provide for you." He lifted her fingers to his lips, which was proper enough, but he was standing too close to her and his thumb lingered overlong on her palm.

  


Pulling her hand away sharply, she snapped, "Hirgon will be pleased with your care for me, I'm sure."

  


The small spark of amusement faded from his face, and sorrow rushed across it like a wave, and Terisda regretted her tone. Hiranion appeared to wrestle with words for a moment, then yielded to silence, opening the door and making a great show of handing her the key. She turned back on the threshold, unsure of what to say in dismissal, and saw the sorrow warp into a scowl. "Mind your tongue, Sister," he said, a slight emphasis on the last word that touched cold shivers to her spine. "We are in the City now, and there is a King again. There is no longer any room in Gondor for frontier manners."

  


She managed not to slam the door, but it was a struggle.

  


She leaned against the door and wiped her hand on the stiff skirt of her court dress before pressing both palms against the smooth wood and staring grimly down the hall. She felt as if she and the building were in a confrontation. This was everything Hiranion wanted; everything she and Hirgon despised. And here she was, an unwilling prisoner within its walls, all choices removed from her. Unless she could persuade the King to let her swiftly return across the Anduin to Ithilien, this **was** what the remainder of her life would be like; endless battles with Hiranion over public propriety, perhaps private battles of a different sort, until she was a proper lady, worn down and spiritless as a noblewoman was meant to be ...

  
__

You misread him, a mental voice chastised her. _He loved his brother. He is as upset about Hirgon as you are. And, anyway,_ it continued with ruthless practicality, _what if it is as you suspect, and he desires you? If the Elf is any indication, the workings of sex cannot be too different between Men. And **you** no longer have any pretense of virtue. Twenty Men or one Elf, it would be all the same if anyone knew. It might not be so bad..._

  


She scrubbed at her face wearily, belatedly realizing that the paint was beginning to itch, and if she left it on too much longer she might have to deal with all manner of unsightly rashes. Not that it mattered; with Hiranion in Minas Tirith, she wouldn't be allowed to leave the house unless she looked appropriate, and that would include wearing the evil stuff every time she stepped foot out of doors. A lady had to keep up appearances.

  


She was too tired to sigh. She pushed away from the door, grimacing at the stale tang of the air as she went deeper into the house. Hiranion's men may have tried to air the place out, but the tickle of dust was in every breath she took. Some of the lamps that lined the hall were working, turned down so low that only the slightest glow lightened the gloom. She turned them off as she went, until she came to the end of the hall and stepped into the large antechamber that served as a receiving room on the bottom floor. Once in the middle of the room she paused to get her bearings, trying to remember which door led to the stairs and the private rooms. 

  


"You are not with child," stated a flat voice behind her. "If that was your goal, Lady, you were better off consorting with a Man." Gasping, Terisda spun around, caught her heel in the folds of her skirt, and went down hard. Fortunately one of the covered chairs was directly behind her; unfortunately it was as dusty with misuse as everything else in the old house. The cloud that went up sent her into a coughing fit. Sighing, Legolas laid aside his great bow and went in search of water. He returned with a cup which he held to her lips. She watched him over the edge of it, her eyes wide with surprise and some apprehension. Finally she couldn't possibly drink any more from the cup no matter how much she wished to avoid conversation. He set it aside but remained kneeling in front of her, looking long into her face before nodding briefly.

  


"I should have recognized you for what you are. I suppose I did, in a way; you have a bright spirit, one not often seen in the race of Man. You may even outshine a wood Elf or two. But I was in a fey mood that day, and I did not question as I should have."

  


"How did you find me?" 

  


He smiled briefly, yet there was no humor on his fair face. "I followed."

  
__

So Elves can be invisible when they chose. Even in the dark...

  


There was a terrible stillness about him. Even in repose, he appeared so alive as to seem to be in motion, yet that was banked in him now. She thought perhaps he was angry, but surely such an emotion only troubled mortals? Then he spoke, and though the tone was even, there was that in the smooth voice that was as terrible as his lack of motion. "Elves make poor stud horses, lady."

  


"One of your kind has played stud in the House of Imrahil," she snapped. "The Elf lords spoke of it between themselves."

  


"Whether stud or dam I cannot say, but it is obvious Elvish blood is there that is more recent than the fall of Numenor," agreed Legolas, still with that flat note in his voice. "I remarked upon it myself. The Prince considered it little more than a very old family legend."

  


"If such things are possible between Elves and Men, how can you be sure--?"

  


He reached out with one of his long-fingered hands and gently touched the brocade covering her stomach, and despite what had passed between them before she found the gesture to be so intimate that she flushed. He withdrew, sitting back on his heels. "I am sure."

  


"There is still time," she said as if to herself, but he shook his head. 

  


"Lady, the reason we Elves were so surprised at Imrahil is -- " he stopped, and sighed again. "Lady, consider; we are an immortal race. Children do not happen by accident among my kind. If we bred as Men do, all of Middle Earth would be overrun by Elves. Someone in the Prince's line cared deeply enough to take on the aspect of a Man and remain here for a time. Such a thing has rarely happened in all our long history. I only know of two instances in the far distant past, and one in the present." He gazed at her soberly. "I think it must be a hard thing, to sire mortal children you know must die as Men die, who must go into the unknown shadows instead of the Halls of Mandos as Elves do. It is not something one of my kind would do lightly."

  


"Then Elves are far more different from Men than I realized," she said, harshly.

  


"Lady, why is this so urgent? You are fair and young. There is plenty of time for you to raise a family with a Man of your choosing."

  


"It must be Hirgon's child!" she burst out, and buried her face in her hands.

  


That gave him pause, and when he spoke again his voice was gentled and more as she remembered it. "I do not know your husband's fate, Lady, but if it is what all suspect it is, what you want cannot be."

  


"Stop," she said through her teeth, "calling me 'lady.' I am not a dog."

  


"Forgive me if I'm uncertain what to call you."

  


"You had no problem with Torrey before."

  


There was another long pause before he said, "I thought I understood Torrey. **You** I do not know."

  


She flinched, and dropped her hands from her face, twisting them uncertainly in her lap. She refused to look at him.

  


Legolas sighed again, and came to his feet, folding his arms across his chest and regarding her sternly. "You had better tell me all."

  


"What is there to tell?" Terisda responded, bitterly. "I grasped for the stars to provide the best for Hirgon's lands, and it appears I overreached myself."

  


"This is for land?" he demanded, an incredulous note in his voice. He had never passed judgement on her in any way despite her bold behavior, but in this it seemed she had disappointed him. She chanced a glance up, to behold the Elf's face carved into inhuman planes and angles that she could not interpret as any expression she recognized. "I do not know you at all." His words were as cool as ever his skin had been. He took up his bow and, although she could not exactly say how he did it, appeared to fade from view until she was alone in the room. Startled, Terisda looked around, but he was not in any distant corner contemplating her. He was simply gone.

  


And with his leaving, gone also was the last hope of her desperate gamble.

  


Her head drooped, and she pressed her hands across her flat stomach. _I was right,_ she thought grimly, _I should have gone for quantity. Now, all is lost._


	6. The Truth Will Out, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lady of Gondor decides that only Legolas will do for her ... but what is it she really wants?

The dawn of the next day brought her no respite from her grim mood, for it found her sitting in the covered chair as if she had never moved from it. It was not far from the truth. She had stirred enough to cleanse her face and change from her court dress to a house dress, but sleep eluded her and she spent the night sitting upright, not plotting for once, but not doing anything else to ease her own misery. 

  


Hardly had the light of the rising sun crept through the silent streets of the second circle to touch the lowest windows of the houses of the Lords of Minas Tirith than a pounding came upon her door. She thought to ignore it, telling herself dryly that unless it was a contingent of Hurin's officers begging her to return to her old quarters she had no interest in whomever was on the other side. But the pounding continued, so it was obviously someone who knew she was here. She sighed, and bestirred herself to answer the summons. She was not too surprised to find her brother-in-law on the other side, but what accompanied him irritated her to the edge of her tolerance. She set her hands against her waist and glared at the half-dozen women gathered around him.

  


"Hiranion, you didn't."

  


There was a hint of humor about his face, and he held his hands up as if to shield himself from a blow. "Peace, Sister, peace! Whether you like it or not, the King is aware of you now, which means the other nobles have recalled you as well. You cannot stay alone here another moment." She scowled at him, almost in defense, because he was charming in this mood and it was hard to remember that she disliked and distrusted him when he reminded her of Hirgon. She stood aside and let the new servants into the premises will an ill grace.

  


The women spent the better part of the morning putting the house to rights, beating covers and rugs until Terisda was sure her lungs would be permanently lined with dust. Hiranion oversaw all, despite her strong hints that he must have better things to do. "My lady will have my head if I don't make certain your housing is to her standards," he told her cheerfully. The idea that the silent demure mouse would do anything of the sort was utterly alien to Terisda, and she spent no little time running the off-hand comment through her mind to see if she missed some element of irony or scorn in it. It was not a very fruitful exercise, but it kept her from considering other problems she didn't wish to think about, and for that she was grateful.

  


In the early afternoon, right as she was beginning to think about food and wonder if there were any in the house, another knock came upon the door. She went into the hallway to answer it, but one of her new maids brushed by her, giving her a faintly disapproving look as she did so. Terisda halted and rubbed at her temples, wryly noting that even the hired help thought she did not know her proper place. She would have to send for her own servants. She had put it off, hoping she could tell them to meet her in Ithilien, but she was having more and more doubt as to her ability to convince the King to let her go.

  


The maid walked back to her. "A messenger asks to speak to you, my lady."

  


"He would have already spoken to me if **I** answered the door," Terisda said crossly. 

  


There was a chuckle behind her. Hiranion said, "At least wait until my wife arrives before you frighten off the help, Terisda." He took her by the elbow as he passed, and she was towed along in his wake as he went to the door to see who was there. The livery the man wore was that of the Tower Guard. She held out her hand, but Hiranion also held out his, and without hesitation the messenger handed what he carried to her brother-in-law. Hiranion turned it over in his hands and paused when he saw the seal. He showed it to her. "Do you recognize this?"

  


Terisda looked at the impression of seven stars set in the wax and shook her head. "It's the seal of King Elessar," said the messenger.

  


"Very Elvish," remarked Hiranion, noncommittal. He slid his forefinger under the flap's edge, lifting the seal without breaking it to open the letter. The contents needed but a glance. He raised his head, and his eyes were blanked. "The King sends urgently for both of us." 

  


They gazed at each other in silence, for both understood well what this message portended. "I can't," Terisda finally stated, her voice trembling from repressed fear. "My paints are not here, and the only court dress I have is the one I wore yesterday."

  


She thought that would deter Hiranion, who cared so much about appearances, but instead he smiled grimly. "One thing I learned about the King during the march to the Black Gate, Sister, is that he is a Man who **means** it when he says 'now'. We will be there as soon as our horses are saddled," he instructed the messenger, who inclined his head and spun about, running lightly down the road.

  


"It will be faster to walk," said Terisda.

  


"Yes. But I am no more anxious than you are for this meeting, and it is the only thing that will buy us any time at all." His grey eyes were hard as he looked at her. "Terisda -- you know what this must mean, do you not?"

  


She refused to acknowledge it, and found refuge in flippancy. "That our new King has far too much time on his hands, if he requires us to amuse him."

  


Hiranion sighed, and shook his head, and went to get the horses. Alone in the hall, Terisda twisted her fingers together and wrung her hands, staring unseeing at the wall until he called to her.

  


\----------------------------

  


Hiranion tried to talk to her on the way to the King's dwelling, but Terisda refused to respond seriously to anything he said and he finally retreated into a sullen silence. This did not truly suit her, for when he spoke she could mock him, and when she mocked him she was able to talk over the insistent murmuring of her own thoughts. With nothing to distract her they were as shouts in her ears, and she did not care for what they were telling her.

  


She clambered down from the horse when they reached their destination, and was suddenly very aware of loose tendrils of hair about her face and the dusty condition of her dress. Sighing, she tried to shake her skirt out as Hiranion was greeted by Tower Guardsmen who were obviously expecting them. He stepped back to let her go ahead. She followed the Guardsmen, smoothing back her hair and scowling as she saw more dust on her sleeves. Overseeing the opening of the house was dirtier work than she realized when she was in the midst of it.

  


There was an odd sound in front of her, very like a sniff. Terisda glanced ahead, to see a well-appointed Lady in the hall, staring at her with disdain on her aristocratic features. _Probably one of Eowyn's swooners,_ she thought, and had to strongly resist the urge to stick out her tongue. But the Lady's gaze swept past her, and widened, and she suddenly cast her eyes down, and she and her attendants walked by with faces averted.

  


Terisda turned her head and was surprised to see a scowling Hiranion just lifting his hand from his sword hilt, something Hirgon used to do to warn off those who might disparage her, although her husband's half-smile was far more dangerous than Hiranion's glower. "What?" her brother-in-law demanded crossly as she stared at him, unmoving even though the doors to the King's throne-room were being opened for them.

  


Terisda answered him honestly for once. "There are moments you are very like Hirgon."

  


Hiranion blinked, and turned his head away, but not before she saw faint, pleased color run across his face. He offered her his arm, and she placed her fingers lightly over his wrist. They both took in deep breaths at the same moment, then glanced at each other in surprise. He smiled slightly, and she smiled back, and for that one instant they were in accord.

  


There were very few people in the room, and that alone frightened her, because a King in the middle of the day should be fully attended by courtiers and petitioners. Her gaze was immediately drawn to a man standing near the King's empty throne. He was fair of hair and skin, and his clothes were after the manner of the Rohirrim, if somewhat richer than those she had cut away from wounded Riders during the battle. His expression was solemn, and when she met his grim blue eyes she suddenly did not want to be in the same room. But the King came forward then, greeting both of them by name, and her gaze was forced to him. She started to go into her curtsy, but Elessar took her by the hand and stopped her. He brought her to the fair, fell young man. "This is Eomer, King of the Riders of the Mark with the fall of Theoden in battle. He has news of your husband."

  


Terisda looked at him, and she took a step back, because she knew that she did not want to hear anything he had to tell her. Her movement brought her against Hiranion, but rather than move aside his hands came up to cup her shoulders. So between Hiranion's hard grip and Eomer's hard gaze, she found herself imprisoned, unable to do anything to escape the situation.

  


"Tell her," Elessar ordered when Eomer did not speak.

  


The King of the Mark scowled, but obeyed the High King, speaking with a directness that was very like that of his sister. "You know that Hirgon came before Theoden-King with the Red Arrow, and departed immediately to bring word of our coming to Gondor."  
  
  
  
"He did not arrive. We heard naught from him. He must have gone on to Ithilien--"

  


"No, Lady," he said, and while his tone was not unkind, there was a sternness there that indicated little patience with her desperate babbling. Terisda bit her lower lip to forestall more off-putting words. "We heeded the urgency of the message, and we rode through gloom and little-used paths for five days. On the night of the fifth day the Marshal, Elf-helm, came to me to report that the scouts had found the bodies of errand-riders of Gondor ahead." His scowl deepened, and he crossed his arms, and she perceived that he did not appreciate the task Elessar had set to him. "One of them we deemed was Hirgon, for when he fell he still held the Red Arrow." She did not respond, just stared at him, not even feeling the press of Hiranion's fingers into her flesh as his hands clenched. "You may be proud of him," the King of the Horseriders told her, "for great deeds were done through his death. He brought us to the Fields in time to turn the battle and hold the lines until the King came with his own forces."

  


Terisda did not hear his closing words. For the second time in two days her knees gave out, but this time she was not already kneeling on the ground and her body sagged. Hiranion braced to take her weight, but Elessar unceremoniously scooped her up and placed her into the closest seat, his own throne. Kneeling next to her, Hiranion patted at her arm and shoulder ineffectively, distress on his face, although she was sure it owed as much to the public scene she was making as anything else. "Terisda, this is not news," he told her in a low voice. "You knew, we both knew--"

  


"Oh, I **knew** ," she spat. "How could I not know, once the Riders came?" and the look she turned on Eomer was venomous. "But there was some part of my heart that held onto hope. I did not even know how much hope until it had been ripped away."

  


And she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly, not caring where she was or who saw her.

  


After a time cool fingers touched hers, and something soft was pressed into them. "Here, take this," said a voice that sent a thrill of terror through her. She peeked through her fingers, but it was not Legolas although the tone and touch was similar. It was one of the Elf lords bending over her, concern in his clear eyes. She made no effort to take the cloth he offered her, so instead he pulled her unresisting hands away from her face and blotted her tears. He then murmured quiet words to her that she did not understand, but which somehow soothed her so that she was able to breath without hiccuping, although the tears still dripped silently from the corners of her eyes. "There, that's better," he said, and this time when he gave her the cloth she accepted it. 

  


"You have to be calm, Terisda," said Hiranion, although he sounded shaken himself. "It's not good for the child for you to be so upset."

  


She twisted the cloth through her fingers and stared down at them. "Hiranion, I'm not--" she started, but the Elf lord glanced quickly to one side before he covered her hands and spoke over her. "Say nothing, my lady. Lord Hiranion is right, you should save your strength." He stood, drawing her up after him, and she was surprised to find that her legs worked and she could navigate the several steps from the throne to the floor without difficulty. "There, you see? You're stronger already." The Elf lord smiled at her, and despite her grief and anger she found she did feel strong enough to stand on her own without support from him or Hiranion.

  


She felt she should say something, to the King who was studying her with deep concern and sympathy, and to Eomer who continued to glower as if he greatly resented being forced to speak to her. She looked at them both as she searched for words, but Elessar spoke first. "Lady, Gondor owes you much, both for the sacrifice Lord Hirgon made and for your own work during the siege, by which many were saved who may have otherwise shared his fate. I will do what I can to make this time pass easier for you."

  


"Then let me go to Ithilien, Sire," she pleaded. "I do not like the City. I feel as if the walls close in on me here."

  


The King looked behind her to Hiranion, and Terisda was bitterly reminded that she did not control her own destiny. So she was surprised at Elessar's words when his gaze returned to her. "I will consider it." 

  


It was no promise, but it was better than she dared hoped. She bowed her head, and turned toward Eomer, but found she could not speak thanks to him. Instead she fixed him with a hard stare and demanded clarification. "You say 'deemed'. You 'deemed' one of the message-riders was Hirgon. What does that mean, 'deemed'? How did you find Hirgon, how did he die?"

  


"I have said all I have to say." And no matter how she pressed him, the King of the Riders spoke no more.

  


"Let it rest, Lady," Elessar finally counseled. "Hiranion and Elladan are right, you must not over-tax yourself. Do not add unjust anger to your burden of grief." He took one of her clenched hands, and gently uncurled her fingers. "Let Hiranion take you home, where you may spend the night in peace." 

  
__

There is no peace for me in that place, Terisda thought, but she did not struggle when the King held out her hand to Hiranion. Her brother-in-law took it, and set his other hand on her shoulder, and promised her again what he had said to her the night before, that there would always be succor for her at his hearth. Saying it in front of the King made it a formal vow. Although the words seemed fair and were meant to comfort her, she could not repress the shudder that ran through her.

  


Most would not have noticed the tremor, but the archer standing in the shadows noted it well, as he had noted everything that had happened since she entered the throne-room, and the faint frown on his fair features deepened.


	7. Interlude with Elf Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lady of Gondor decides that only Legolas will do for her ... but what is it she really wants?

The obligations of his office found Faramir at the ruins of Osgilith for most of the day, and he was unable to respond to the King's summons as quickly as Hiranion and Terisda. So the Steward did not learn of the fate of his kinsman Hirgon until late in the afternoon, well after Hiranion and Terisda had retreated from the King's presence. He was almost as upset at not being there to support the two in their grief as he was at the death of Hirgon. The King of the Rohirrim snorted. "I would have given a great deal **not** to be present. I am not the best at comforting widows." 

  


"Indeed," murmured Elladan from a corner, "none would mistake that as one of your stronger skills."

  


Eomer shot a nasty glare at the Elf, who gave no indication of noticing the other's ire. King Elessar smirked slightly, but was all seriousness when he spoke to Faramir. "What know you of Hiranion?"

  


The Stewart paused over his reply, and his response indicated he understood why it was the King asked such a pointed question. "Terisda **does** seem wary of him, although in truth I understand it not. He is an honorable man."

  


"The fears a woman harbors may be far different from those of a man," mused the King. "Where are his lands?"

  


"With Hirgon gone he holds a large track in North Ithilien, although parts of it incorporate the Dead Marshes and the Nindalf. I don't doubt he'll find some clever way to make use of them."

  


"Apart from Ithilien."

  


"He has holdings near the Anduin in divers places. He received no land when his father died, of course, but there was some money and he invested it in docks and quays along the river-ways. He runs a large commercial center in Anfalas, which is where he makes his home."

  


"A merchant, in other words," said Eomer. He regarded the Steward sourly, although his eyes gleamed with humor. "How close a kinsman is this? I would rather not have my sister marrying into a family of beancounters."

  


Faramir replied in a like manner, but there was a serious undercurrent to his words. "A second son must do what he must do, and a nation needs merchants as much as it needs soldiers, Eomer."

  


"And he brought his own soldiers and fought well before the Black Gate," mused the King. "Is there more?" he demanded of his Steward.

  


Faramir shrugged. "He was also a suitor for Terisda's hand, but I cannot say I've ever discerned regret in him that Hirgon was the one who won her. He has since married, so do not expect a solution there."

  


"What of her father's line?"

  


"The Houses of North Ithilien were decimated, and there are not many left Terisda may claim close kinship with. She had a brother who sometimes rode with Boromir's forces on sorties, but he was lost in the retreat across the Anduin. As is custom, her father's lands then fell to her husband, although since Orcs held the deed at the time it was moot. Apart from Hiranion, I suppose the next closest kin she has is myself. We share a common forefather some ten or so Stewards ago."

  


"I am in two minds as to what I should do. If she is with child, and bears a son, then she is well provided for. If not--"

  


"I would do much for love of you, Aragorn," responded Rohan's King sourly, "but if you expect me to wed that harpy I will have to draw the line."

  


Faramir regarded Eomer with bafflement. "She is obviously one who would have no hesitation in slaying the messenger for the ill tidings he bears," supplied Elrohir. "Our noble King of the Mark barely escaped with his life."

  


At that Faramir smiled. "Yes, she's ferocious when roused. Actually, she's ferocious most of the time. She was such a quiet thing when we were younger, but once they were wed Hirgon gave her her head and she just --" He made an expansive movement with his hands, as if uncertain of the words.

  


"'Exploded'?" offered Eomer dryly.

  


"'Blossomed'?" suggested both of the Elf lords at the same time. They grinned at each other as Eomer rolled his eyes. "Ah, me," said Elladan lightly. "You mortals, so afraid of a tiny thing like that just because she has a tongue!"

  


"I would have an easier decision what to do about her if I had more exact information." The King's gaze went to the Elf lords, both of whom gazed back at him with faintly quizzical expressions. "You are not going to help me, are you?"

  


"With--?" queried Elladan, all innocence, although Elrohir's efforts to appear equally guileless were somewhat less effective.

  


The King directed a scowl that would have shriveled any courtier it intersected, but the Elf lords appeared unaffected. "If you two are to be of no help as counselors, then I wish you would make yourselves useful and go to Lorien. The Fellowship is getting restless. The Hobbits want to return to their Shire, and Legolas is longing for the green things he can smell across the Anduin," here he turned toward the far wall, "are you not, Legolas?"

  


"Your tracking skills are fading, Aragorn," said Gimli from his station in the shadows. "Legolas left some few minutes ago."

  


"He is always slipping off, that one," observed Elladan. "He does not have the advantage of being raised in Rivendell, and so has little tolerance for walls and buildings."

  


"And even within, he hears the gulls," added Elrohir. "Whether they are crying or not, he hears them."

  


"The city is a cage for him," Elladan agreed. "Elves do not like cages, nor do they like it when other things are caged. It is their nature to try to set imprisoned creatures free. Raised by our kind as you were, I would think you would be in sympathy with that, Estel."

  


"He lacks proper appreciation for the masonry work to be found in Minas Tirith," grumbled Gimli, a little crossly. "If he would but pay attention to me when I try to tell him how to distinguish good stone from bad, he would be better occupied here!" 

  


For some reason that brought laughter from Elladan, and Elrohir smiled slyly. The King, however, gazed thoughtfully at the twins and was soon lost in a contemplative silence.


	8. The Weight of Choice, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lady of Gondor decides that only Legolas will do for her ... but what is it she really wants?

Terisda stared at herself in the polished glass, studying her reflection with a critical eye. She had not used much in the way of paint, for court affectations would give her away, but there was a touch around her lids to disguise how swollen from weeping they were. For color she used many ribbons, ruthlessly tying off thick strands of hair near her scalp in a way that gave the illusion of curls. She wore a simple housedress, one that set off her shoulders and neck to advantage. The overall result looked enough like a servant that none would question her too closely, she decided. Indeed, she looked better than she had when she attracted Legolas' attentions --

_You mean, when you threw yourself at him so shamelessly he was **forced** to take notice--and even then, you had to beg--_

"Well, Men won't be so hard to convince," she told the reflection defiantly. It responded with a nod that made the curls bounce, but the unsettled sensation in her stomach grew. She had no idea where she had found the strength to even consider such actions before, let alone act upon them. No, not strength; despair. She was not feeling any more hopeful than she had after the battle, but the odd determination that possessed her in the first days after had faded into a gray hopelessness she found hard to combat.

And it would have to be soon. Very soon. Few would question a babe that stayed a little overlong in the womb, but Terisda knew she was already at the very edge of tolerance becoming suspicion. Ten months was unusual but not impossible, and many would immediately take the stress of her husband's death as reason enough. Eleven months -- well. She would just have to do her best over the next week, that was all.

She did know of several taverns in the lower circles, and some pubs in more reputable locales, and it was upon these establishments she now pinned her meager hopes. Hirgon sometimes went to such places with friends of his in the Tower Guards, but despite his indulgence of her he would not allow her on any of the night revels, although sometimes he would take her to the better pubs for a meal in the daytime. She usually got a full, if slightly incoherent, report upon his return, which oft concluded with the comment that he was very glad he was married, because what the lads went through to attract the attention of the lasses in those places was too much work. Then the drink would take effect and he would fall asleep on the bed fully dressed, snoring loudly. She recalled tugging his boots off with more fondness than her grumbling at the time would have indicated. Wrapping her arms around herself, she gripped hard enough for it to hurt, and so fought off this memory as she had been fighting off others all afternoon. With the reality of his death confirmed, remembrances of Hirgon held at bay during the last month were crowding into her mind, clambering for attention, but they were interfering with what had to be done and she was determined to hold them off a while longer.

The irony of using Hirgon's critiques of local pubs and taverns to determine where she might best achieve her goal was not lost on her. There was also the danger that some of these places might have a Tower Guard or two in attendance who would recognize her. _Not with my hair like this,_ she tried to reassure herself, but unbidden came the thought that Legolas had no trouble recognizing her when her own mother likely would not have, and she looked far more like her usual self tonight. She glanced at herself for final reassurance, but her reflection had a skeptical twist to its mouth, and apart from confirming that she looked well enough, it gave her no comfort.

And she was not going to get herself with child by conferring endlessly with her mirror image. 

She smoothed her hands against her skirt nervously and turned away from the glass. Her fingers shook when she reached for the latch of her door. She pulled back, took several deep, full breaths, and when she reached out again her hand was steady. She looked both ways when she stepped out into the hall, but did not see any of the new servants. Terisda wasn't sure what servants did in the early evening, but whatever it was, it evidently required that they be in a different part of the house. She crept down the stairs as silently as she could, wincing at every creak the old wood made under her feet. In the antechamber she paused, glancing around again. There were some faint sounds from the kitchen; _good,_ she thought. _That will cover the noise of my escape._ She stepped into the hallway leading to the exit and freedom as dread and excitement curled together sharply in her stomach.

And stopped.

Halfway down the hall, looking a little surprised, one of the new servants hastily got to her feet. There was a short, round table next to her chair, with a freshly-lit candle and a book, face down to hold the reader's place. Terisda stared blankly for a moment. The maid smiled at her shyly. "My lady, may I help you? If you need something from the kitchens, or you would like a bath prepared, you only have to ring the bell in your room and one of us will attend you."

"It's late for that," replied Terisda, although in truth it wasn't.

"Do not worry about that, my lady. I have the night watch, and the others are still about. We will be happy to get what you need."

Terisda looked helplessly at the maid standing eagerly by the chair in the hallway, and so she was made aware once again of her lack of freedom. "No," she finally said, "I require nothing of you." And she turned and made her way back, leaving the servant staring after her in bemusement.

The creaks were just as loud even though she was no longer trying to walk cautiously as she went slowly up the stairs. Blindly she found her way to her room and the dressing table within. She crashed into the seat, her hands over her face, fighting conflicting emotions of relief and despondency. Sighing, she opened her eyes and reached up to pull out the ribbons in her hair. She paused, lips slightly parted, as her gaze went to one side of her own reflection.

Legolas was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, his long smooth hair falling over his shoulder as his head tipped slightly to the side. Although the house was shut up tight, Terisda found that his presence did not surprise her. She accepted that there was no door or lock ever created that could keep out an Elf. For all she knew or cared, they walked through walls at will. She dropped her hands from her hair, and folded them on the table, twisting her fingers together in an effort to control her emotions.

He smiled slightly. "You always do that when you try not to be too hasty."

"What?" She could not keep the defensive note out of her voice.

The reflected gaze dropped, and she followed it to her hands. "Twine your fingers together so tightly I wonder if blood still flows."

Self-conscious, Terisda pulled her hands apart and laid them flat on the table.

Legolas moved away from the wall. She tensed as she watched him approach, but he simply touched one of the ribbons with his long fingers. "You're going out?"

It was the wrong question, and Terisda responded acerbically. "Apparently not. One of my new maids is sitting in the hall, which effectively makes her the warden of my virtue. What are you doing here?"

He made no reply, but began to gently tug at the ribbons, untying them all until her dark hair fell down her back. She eyed him askance in the mirror. His mood was so different from the last time they spoke, so like it was when they first met, that she was confused. He reached past her, and she flinched again, but he merely picked up the brush from next to her hand and carefully began to run it through her hair. As the bristles caught and tugged at the occasional soft tangle she was again reminded of how different they were. She had seen the Elf lords after brutal battle, and whatever other deprivations Elves might endure, she was convinced that tangles were not a problem their kind ever faced. Her confusion melded into irritation, and she spoke tartly. "I wonder that you can stand to touch it. It is thick as mud compared to yours."

His brows went up, and he laid aside the brush and twined the long fingers of both hands into the hair near her ears, then slowly pulled his fingers to the nape of her neck. "Not mud," he murmured. "More like the churning of the Anduin near the rapids; alive and bright and tumbling."

It was hard not to shiver when he spoke so, and touched her so. "I doubt you came here to style my hair."

Legolas did not answer at first but delicately twisted his fingers through the hair at her neck until she pulled away with a small jerk of her head and he released her. His eyes met hers in the mirror. "I do not blame you for your actions," he said after a considering pause. "I merely wish you had been honest with me from the start."

She felt as if she were holding the conversation by proxy, and turned in the chair to look at him directly. He tilted his head down, meeting her eyes, but she could not read what was in his gaze. "And if I told you--?"

"I would have informed you that your time was better spent with your own kind," Legolas said, dryly. "You made the choices you made, however, and now options for you are fewer than they were."

"I had thought of my own kind, but once I saw you no-one else would do."

"Why is that?"

She reached out, and touched his lips with two of her fingertips. "Your smile," she whispered. "It reminded me of **his** smile--of Hirgon--"

His eyes widened, then narrowed, and Terisda saw with a certain satisfaction that she had surprised him. "I never met your husband, but I knew Boromir, and I do **not** look like him, nor like any other descendant of Numenor."

"No--not at all. I wish you did. I could better excuse myself if you did." To her horror her treacherous eyes filled again, and she could not prevent the words from spilling out even as the tears overflowed and spilled. "He is all but forgot. There would be no Minas Tirith without him, for we would not have lasted without the coming of the Horseriders and the King would have returned to a burnt husk of a city. Even Faramir thinks only of the kinsman he has lost, rather than the hero who saved his city. They sing songs of this Frodo Nine-Fingers in the streets, Legolas. Where are the songs for Hirgon?" And for the second time that day, she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly.

"Little one," Legolas whispered, "Torrey, shh." He bent and took her into his arms, pulling her up and holding her, then sweeping her off her feet and taking her to the bed when she would not calm. He lay back, holding her sprawled on top of him, and her fingers twisted into the folds of his tunic as she sobbed into his shoulder. "Shh; there, there." And he said other nonsense words as well, but she could not hear more than the hint of his voice through her sobbing, so he held her and murmured to her, stroking her hair and back with his cool hands, until his calming influence began to take effect and she quieted to sniffles. At length she became aware of where they were, and their position, and she lifted her head and regarded him warily. He smiled at her, and touched her face, and gently swept his thumbs against her cheeks as he brushed away tears. "I wanted to go to you in the throne-room. It took all my willpower to remain still. If Elladan had not stepped forward, I think I would have thrown all caution to the winds. Yet if I came bounding up the steps of the King's throne to comfort you, it would have raised more than eyebrows. I did not wish you to suffer any suspicion because of impetuous behavior on my part. Indeed, I feared you might become even more distrait if you knew of my presence. So I remained silent -- but it was a hard thing to do."

From the moment she stepped into the room, Terisda's world narrowed to the two Kings. An oliphaunt could have blundered through the doors and she would have been oblivious. "I saw you not."

Legolas' smile turned wry. "Just as well. Elladan's father is a great healer, and although it is not his foremost gift, Elladan has considerable skill himself. He was able to bring you back to yourself far quicker than I could have done." His expression shifted and became serious, and when he spoke what he said was unexpected to her. "Tell me of Hiranion."

"I cannot speak of him without speaking of Hirgon."

"I do not mind words spoken of a noble man."

She thought it odd to speak of one lover while laying in the arms of another, and sought to free herself with small shrugs and tugs. Rather than release her, Legolas' hands fell to her arms, and he sat up, and shifted his weight until he was leaning with his back again the headboard, and she was tucked against his chest with his arms around her and her cheek resting against the cloth covering his shoulder. It was not unpleasant, and she gave up the unequal struggle and relaxed against him. "I have avoided speaking of him for so long, I do not know where to begin. You are right, Legolas; Hirgon was a noble man. Perhaps Hiranion is not so ignoble. When Hirgon was ... here, all I could see was their differences. Now I am very much aware of their similarities."

"Yet you are afraid of him."

"Yes," she admitted. "Yes. He terrifies me. It is half fears of my own making, I tell myself, but then there is a look or a touch from him, and I am not so sure."

"Tell me."

"I find myself thinking it might not be so bad."

"I don't understand. What might not be so bad?"

"Whatever he requires of me," Terisda said, flatly. "Whether it be to decorate his hall, marry some merchant in Laketown that he wishes to do business with, or amuse him in his own bed. It is no more than other women have to endure, and they survive." He covered the slight hand resting near his neck and stroked the back of it gently with his thumb, and just as she took strength from the Elf lord in the King's hall, she somehow found strength from this small touch as well. She raised her head and gazed at him steadily. "I would rather speak of the land, since it caused harsh words between us before."

"It did not--" he started to protest, but she directed a sour look at him, and Legolas had the grace to pause before raising his shoulders in a slight, elegant shrug. "We Elves do not understand Men and their insistence on land. We live with the land, not 'off' of it, as Men say. 'Owning' land is utterly alien to us. The memory of you was sweet to me, coming as it did between two spans of horror, and I suppose I was perturbed to find it was more -- calculated than I knew at the time." 

Terisda winced at that, but it was a fair assessment so she did not protest. "My husband loved the land. Not that Hiranion doesn't, I suppose, but what they each saw in it was very different. They oft had words over it. Hiranion thought of the value in the trees, and spoke of what could be gained by harvesting them. But Hirgon would not permit axe to be set to wood unless the wood was already diseased. There was more value in one grove of living trees, he told me, than in all the timber in the world. Hiranion would no doubt take good care of me," and here her voice was bitter again, "and mayhap even of the home of my ancestors, but it would not be like the care my husband would have taken. A year or two of his stewardship, and I will not recognize the home of my childhood."

"It has been overrun with orcs these many years," replied Legolas. "You will not recognize it now." But there was a slightly altered note in his voice, and she looked at him sharply but could not tell what he was thinking. She was working up the courage to ask him when the most ungeentel thing occurred. Her stomach rumbled. Loudly.

Legolas burst out laughing at her chagrin. Then he regarded her with mock severity. "When did you last eat?"

She started to answer impatiently, paused, then admitted in surprise, "I don't know. Yestermorn, perhaps." 

He made a small disapproving noise, and began to untangle himself from her. "Elves occasionally die of grief, but of hunger? No. No Elf would be that foolish. Stay here."

"Where could I possibly go?" she said more lightly than she felt, but it was to an empty room. Terisda watched the shutter of the window slowly swing back into place, shrugged, and settled more comfortably onto the bed. She supposed it was better for him to be clambering in and out of her window than tip-toeing about the halls, especially if her own excursion was any indication. Folding her hands across her midriff, she stared fixedly at the window, determined just once to catch him in the act of entering a room. But she had never been the most patient of people, and after the first few minutes she began to look elsewhere in the room for distractions, and it was after one of those moments when she turned her eyes back that she found Legolas already standing before the window, the shutters swinging gently behind him.

She was caught by the expression of mischief on his face, and a suspicion grew. "You do that on purpose."   
  


"Do what?" the Elf queried in all innocence, but that bright, unfeigned smile flashed a moment later, and she was reminded all over again of why it was she settled upon him. 

From beneath his tunic he took bread and cheese, unwrapping them and setting them before her with a flourish, and from its place tucked into his belt he pulled a bottle of wine. "We'll get crumbs on the bed," she protested. 

"Then we'll shake the bedclothes out." He placed the bottle on the table next to the bed, then after consideration took the water glass that was already there, drained it, and replaced it. "That will have to do for a goblet." He sat cross-legged on the covers, and broke the bread and cheese and served it to her, and although he couldn't quite coax her to laughter at first, Terisda found herself smiling quite a bit. In a short while she had eaten most of the repast while he had very little, and what wine was drunk was all on her side, for although she offered to share the glass he wrinkled his nose at the thought. "You mortals are always spoiling good berries by letting them foam too long." For some reason that struck her as very funny, whereupon Legolas grinned and took the bottle, holding it out to the side and firmly telling her she had had enough. Terisda rose to her knees on the shifting surface of the bed and made a grab for it, but overbalanced and fell against him. After that she wasn't sure what happened to the bottle, but Legolas let her bear him down backwards until she sprawled atop him again, and even let her frame his fair face with her hands and slowly kiss him on the mouth, but he turned his head away when she would have done so again. So she tucked her face against his neck and rested, and he gently ran his fingers under her hair and idly played with the soft skin at the nape of her neck.

And although her eyes still stung from all the weeping she had done, and she was sure her face was decorated with unsightly splotches from her most recent fit of crying, Terisda felt the slow beat of his strong heart under her fingers and his soft touches against her neck and shoulders and, for the first time since the siege, felt some measure of equanimity about her situation.

After a long while the Elf stirred, and put his hands on her waist and gently moved her to the side. "I will be gone from Minas Tirith for a short time," he told her. Reaching out, he tugged gently on a strand of hair next to her face, still curled slightly from the ribbons earlier, and one corner of his mouth turned up. "I cannot tell you what to do, but I will ask that you have a care. Men can be ... negligent, at times."

"I am not going anywhere or doing anything," Terisda responded, her tone lazy rather than belligerent; the wine had a mellowing influence on her tongue as well as her mood. "It was not his intent, I think, but Hiranion's women have me imprisoned as surely as if they were ordered to keep me under lock and key."

"Oh, but none may keep an Elf in or out," he said lightly, "nor may any see an Elf unless he wants to be seen. So do not give into despair, Torrey. I will visit you again." He dropped a kiss against her hair. Terisda smiled vaguely at him, but she fell almost immediately into a dreamless slumber (which was as Legolas intended, for he thought that she had been avoiding sleep as well as sustenance), and so she did not see him depart.

  



	9. The Weight of Choice, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lady of Gondor decides that only Legolas will do for her ... but what is it she really wants?

Smells were what first intruded into the grayness, sour and sharp ones that made her nose wrinkle. One hand flailed over her face, rubbing, trying to block the odors, yet they persisted, becoming just noxious enough to force her eyes open.

The most noisome one she found by peeking over the edge of the bed -- the unstopped wine bottle nestled half-under the hem of the covers, its sour tang making her slight headache worse. When Terisda sat up her foot came into contact with something solid, which she discovered to be the remains of the cheese. "Ech," she muttered, drawing her foot away. So much for helping her shake the crumbs out of the bed! In some ways, it seemed, males of all races were very alike. 

She sat up, rubbing at her temples with two fingers. Too much wine or too little sleep, or perhaps both combined with her overindulgence in grief, left just a thread of tension behind her eyes. Contemplating cleaning up the remains of her late-night supper added a bit of a throb to the mixture. The sooner she disposed of the evidence, the sooner she could ring for her morning meal, for despite her headache she was hungry for the first time in many days. She had to search diligently for the stopper to the wine bottle, which for some reason was under the bed, and upon consideration placed the bottle prominently on her dresser, dryly thinking its presence might explain much of her behavior to the maids. After gathering as much of the cheese and bread crumbs as she could, she dumped them into the chamber pot, doubting anyone would examine its contents too closely. Sighing, she plucked at the neckline of her dress, which was not meant to be used as a nightgown and uncomfortably bound her in divers places. It was time to pull out another dress and face the new day.

It was during her morning toilette she discovered Legolas right -- she was not with child. Terisda had to sit for a while at that, because she still harbored a bare remnant of expectation, and coming so hard upon the other emotional disturbances of the last two days, this almost overwhelmed her. But her earlier disappointments had also inured her to an extent, and after a few black moments her gaze cleared and she was able to contemplate her situation.

Practical matters first. She could not be "indisposed" for any length of time, and she would have to hide all evidence of this from her maids. The next days would be fraught with all manners of new deceits, she thought wryly. But she had survived many adventures during the last month, and this was just one more.

\------------------

Perhaps a total of four days passed without any sign or word from Legolas. At first none were concerned, for it was known that the Elf greatly missed his woodland home and the companionship of trees, and he would occasionally slip out of the City for an hour or two seeking the company of green, growing things. By the end of the first day, however, quiet inquiries were being made by several concerned as to his whereabouts, and the inquiries from the Dwarf, Gimli, were anything but quiet on the second day. So it was that, when the Elf was discovered in the dawning hours a few morns after, members of the Tower Guard fell over themselves to inform the Dwarf of his companion's exact location.

He was on the walls surrounding the outer circle, where he had gone every sunrise since their return from the gate of Mordor, but today it did not appear it was to greet the sun. True, the Elf craned his neck back to gaze into the skies, but his back was to the spreading rays and his eyes trained on the birds near the White Tower, which rode the wind currents so well they sometimes appeared motionless. Gimli scowled. He was beginning to develop a strong dislike for gulls. He strode out of the shadows. "A pleasant 'good morning' to you, too, Master Elf," he called out, his voice gruff. "I suppose I should be surprised to see you, since the last few morns were equally fine and yet there was no sign of you, here or elsewhere."

Legolas lowered his gaze to smile at the Dwarf, but the look in his eyes was far away. "I crossed the Anduin into Ithilien. I did not go far, but I can see why Faramir called it the garden of Gondor. It is not so damaged as I had supposed from our march to the Black Gate, and from the living things I heard rumors of groves with great pines, and ancient oaks, and slender olives growing in the North, and far, far more ancient woods in the South." 

"You did not go to see these wonders yourself?"

"Time is tight," murmured the Elf. "And there are fell things in Ithilien still. It seemed prudent to return when I found myself with two arrows left."

Gimli looked at the Elf's quiver, which was empty, and decided not to comment on that. "I doubt I've ever heard one of your kind speak of the briefness of time!"

"Rarely do we feel time, and yet I have become very aware of it as late. Ai, I am under a compulsion, my friend. I must cross the water, and soon. Not today or tomorrow, but soon. There is no longer any peace for me in Middle Earth."

"It will be a dull place without you and your kin," said Gimli in a tone meant to be bracing, "although I suppose I will be able to sleep mornings instead of marching up here while you watch the sun rise, so there is some good in everything."

To his amazement, Legolas threw back his head and laughed, but it seemed to the Dwarf that it held the edge of hysteria such as he heard from Men who had just unexpectedly survived a battle. Then his astonishment shifted to dawning alarm as the Elf twirled about, setting his back against the wall and slowly sliding down, until he sat on the paved walkway, his head buried in his hands with his long hair cascading across his face, obscuring all expression. "Durin's Beard, what ails you?"

"I have been far too generous to my cousin, whomever he was, **or** she, who contributed so obviously to the House of Imrahil. I think it was not affection that held him here. I think he heard the call of the gulls, and was torn as I am torn, between the need to answer and the desire to remain. And so -- he did what he did, so some part of him would live on in Middle Earth, even though he was compelled to take to the sea."

"It is in the nature of Elves to prattle," observed the Dwarf, "but even so, you are prattling more than usual."

After a moment Legolas laughed again, and this time it was more the shimmering sound Gimli was used to hearing from Elves. He dropped his hands, and gazed on the Dwarf with fond amusement. "How right you are! Dear Gimli, I am not making much sense because I am beside myself with indecision. Alas, the clarity I seek will not be found in conversation with you, my friend. Forgive me! I have been neglectful of you as late, and I am about to desert you again. Ithilien was hard used by the Shadow, and too many things of beauty have already passed from it. I will not let what remains pass as well."

The Dwarf watched him go, and thought he had a good idea of where he was bound. For he was not unobservant, and he had twice stood near Legolas when the widow Terisda came before the King, and he knew the Elf well enough to mark reactions Legolas may have thought well disguised.

But this he did not tell Legolas for many, many years.

\-----------------------------

In truth, Terisda's ingenuity was not much tested. The new servants had been warned that she was temperamental and unpredictable, and when she snapped at the poor maid that came in to set her suite to rights for the day, it proved to be all that was required to gain her as much privacy she needed. She was somewhat concerned when she heard Hiranion's voice in the hall, but then she heard other voices as well. A careful peek through a cracked door confirmed her suspicions; Hiranion's wife and children had finally arrived in Minas Tirith. There were large wardrobes in the hallway, and the sound of a wailing, irritated child drowned out most other conversation. Terisda availed herself of the confusion briefly to sneak out and dispose of the evidence, suppressing her irritation that, if Andina and her noisy little orcs had but arrived a few days earlier, and perhaps at night, her escape from the house might have resulted in no evidence needing disposal. 

Upon her return she was met on the stairs by one of the new servants, who stared at her wide-eyed and wrung her hands in distress as she begged forgiveness. Terisda was hard put not to laugh at her discomfort, but instead she scowled mightily and testily demanded what the girl was on about. "It weren't our idea!" the maidservant wailed. "He told us to put her up in the Master's suite, my lady!"

Terisda sniffed, doing her best impression of the haughty lady she had encountered in the King's halls, and brushed the girl aside.

It wasn't until she was safely back in her own rooms that she realized the import of the maid's words. By taking the main suite for his family, Hiranion was establishing his claim as the new lord.

It was her own fault, Terisda told herself angrily. She easily could have claimed the Master's rooms for herself, but she and Hirgon had spent time there before their relocation to the officer's barracks. Her first nights back in the house she spent trying to fight off memories of her husband, and one of the ways to do that was to consciously avoid the rooms they had shared. The suite she currently resided in was quite a bit smaller, but she had chosen it for its windows, ostensibly because it got less sun in the morning and she did like to sleep in. The windows opened onto a narrow, little-used street and there was a sharp incline across the way that, if one were agile enough, might be useful for jumping to the window sill. She wondered briefly if she unthinkingly noted how easily an Elf might come and go as she was deciding on rooms. Being raised in Ithilien as she was, however, tended to create pessimists rather than optimists, and given how angry she deemed Legolas was with her at the time, Terisda was able to dismiss that sentimental thought with a self-deprecating snort.

Yet consideration brought calm, and Terisda decided that, whether this was slight, warning, or just Hiranion indulging his spouse, it suited her own purposes well enough. With a small burst of black humor, she wondered if she could mime enough petulance over the situation to remain sequestered in her rooms for, oh, eight months or so. As it was, over the next days she settled for terrifying the maids, so that when they brought her trays of food they did not dare touch any other part of the rooms. Thus she was able to keep to herself until her menses ran its course. It was time well spent. Being left unmolested, she felt safe in letting the memories of Hirgon invade her mind when and as they would, and she spent as many hours smiling over some odd, stray memory as crying over her loss. 

Having traded on her stubborn reputation as long as necessary, Terisda decided it was time to re-acquaint herself with her sister-in-law, and so she refused the dinner tray when it came. Instead she stepped out into the hallway, and made no effort to disguise her footfalls on the creaky stairs. Hiranion met her at the base of the stairs, one hand out for her to take, a napkin clutched in the other. "They are setting a place for you," he told her. "Andina has been most concerned about you, but I told her to let you be."

She rested her fingers atop his as she took the last few steps. "Thank you for being so solicitous of my privacy, my lord." She bared her teeth at him in a poor facsimile of a smile, and judging by the amused quirk that crossed his mouth, Hiranion was not a whit deceived by her mild manner. She started to remove her hand when she reached his level, but he folded his thumb over the back of it and would not let go, and so escorted her into the large (and, as Hirgon oft remarked, over-decorated) dining room where her sister-in-law sat waiting.

Andina was very pretty, with large, limpid blue eyes and smooth, pale features almost the same tint as her hair. Terisda had met her once before she wed Hiranion; Andina had been nervous but animated, happy to chatter on any subject although she generally didn't listen to what was said in response. After her wedding, however, she became far more subdued. Hirgon, who had known Andina for years, said that was her more usual demeanor when Terisda remarked on the change, but Terisda had never been sure how true that was, and since then had been inclined to regard Hiranion with suspicion. Andina's altered behavior played no little part in her unease about being beholden to Hiranion in any way, and seeing the wan lips cautiously smile just enough for politeness sake brought her mistrust of him again to mind. So Terisda greeted Andina with far more warmth than she was wont to do in the past, and was pleased to see some color creep into the pallid cheeks.

Dinner went pleasantly enough at first, although Lady Andina asked her many times if she was **sure** that she was fine with the arrangement, and wouldn't the larger quarters be more comfortable since she was _(blush)_ in such a **delicate** condition at the moment? "I doubt my 'condition' will be much altered whichever rooms I inhabit," responded Terisda dryly, "and you have a husband and two children, so I think you will make better use of the space."

Andina again colored, and appeared discomforted by the response. Hiranion observed, "We will have to make arrangements for the care of your child as well. Perhaps the rooms on the North side would be better suited. They are larger, and the dressing room could easily be converted into a nursery."

"I plan for my son to be born in Ithilien, Hiranion."

"Even if you have a son, he will need a guardian until his majority," Hiranion told her, matter-of-factly. "It will be far easier for me to fulfill that role if you are both here."

She went as white as Andina at her palest, staring at him with growing anger. "You will not keep me from Ithilien."

A pulse ticked visibly in one temple, but Hiranion managed to retain his reasonable tone. "Terisda, you are a woman alone. You cannot possibly expect to raise a child, and run an estate, especially one that has been untended for so long."

Terisda continued fiercely, as if she had not heard him. "And you will **not** make decisions for **my** son."

"We will see about that," he responded with cold composure. 

She did not eat much after that. Andina's desperate prattle did not help, for although it was at first a welcome distraction, Hiranion's wife began talking about mourning clothes, and the necessity of bringing tailors to the house soon so that both women's wardrobes could be appropriately modified, and even offered an envious comment that dark garments would look very pleasant with Terisda's coloring, whereas she would just appear washed-out in comparison. Terisda stood up abruptly, and thanked both her kin for their company at the meal, but she was weary and needed to retire. "I'll have the maidservant bring bread and tea to you in the morning," said Andina with quick concern. "That always helped my stomach settle." 

"I'll ring for the servants when I need them," responded Terisda curtly. Andina's pretty eyes brightened with tears at the sharp tone, and Terisda curbed her anger long enough to bow to her sister-in-law and thank her again for the meal.

But Hiranion stood also, holding his hand out to her, and when she did not extend her own he simply reached over and grabbed it, pulling it through his elbow with such suddenness that Terisda stumbled slightly as she was forced to his side. "I'll be right back," he told Andina. "I'm just going to see Terisda to her room." Andina nodded, her big eyes still over-bright, and Hiranion smiled at her reassuringly. When they reached the stairway Terisda tried to tug away, but Hiranion still would not release her, and they marched up the stairs side-by-side in silence, except for the dual creaking under their feet. At her door he caught her hand when she tried to go in, commenting on how cold her fingers were. Scowling, she pulled hard, and he let go her hand, only to catch her by the shoulders. "Little one, please don't fight me so," he said to her softly. "You're just upsetting yourself needlessly, and everyone around you as well." Then he lowered his head, and kissed her forehead lightly. 

Terisda tore away, and slammed the door after her, or tried to. Unfortunately it was too heavy to do more than ponderously squeak shut from the force she used upon it. She stood still for a moment, heels of her hands pressed against her eyes, her mind a jumble. _No misconstruing **that** , _she thought darkly, but then shook her head and dropped her hands. Such salutes were not so unusual, really, and it wasn't as if he had never kissed her hand or her face before. Yet without her husband nearby, such courtesies made her feel -- uneasy. 

And there was a possessive note that she thought she discerned in Hiranion's voice, and that discomforted Terisda far more than his physical attentions. Although it might be a desire for the child he thought she was going to have; if he controlled Hirgon's son, after all, he controlled a good deal of North Ithilien. If one couldn't be the lord of the land, that was the next best thing. She crossed her hands over her stomach, and wondered if it was time to end the deceit.

Yet what he said he would do, and what might actually happen, were two different things. She was not completely helpless. Had not the King said he would consider her request to return to Ithilien? _I'll wait,_ she decided. _I'll wait until I hear from him._

That decision made, Terisda was able to calm herself, and even to ease into sleep rather than lie awake contemplating the many difficulties that might confront her when next she faced either Hiranion or Andina. One of her last thoughts was a sleepy avowal of determination to sleep very, very late indeed, just to underscore that she did not need Andina's homespun remedies any more than she needed Hiranion's guidance in her life.

However, she was undermined in that by the couple's two young children, who appeared to take malicious pleasure in playing, loudly, in the hallway right outside Terisda's door. At first convinced an invasion of some sort was under way, Terisda opened one eye and managed to sleepily identify the source and general locale of the disturbance. Perhaps it was just the early hour that made the children's games sound so loud, although she was a little amazed she could hear them at all through the door of her suite. Made of good, thick wood as it was, the creation of enough noise to filter through it took no little effort on the part of the children. It almost made her glad she had no child of her own, until she remembered that meant she would have to endure **these** children for years to come. Grimacing at the unwelcome thought, she pulled the covers over her head.

"Yes," mused a voice, "I think they are even less musical than gulls. It is a close contest, however."

Not entirely believing her ears, Terisda lowered the covers and peeked out.

He was seated next to the bed, his elbows braced against his knees, his chin resting upon his laced fingers, and he was studying her as if she were completely engrossing. "You're back," Terisda noted without much interest as she sat up. "Or am I still asleep? When you are not here, I always think I have dreamed you."

Legolas started to reply, then stopped and seriously regarded her. "You're unsettled again."

"I'm just not at my best in the morning, Legolas."

"Let there be no more half-truths between us," he said, his words stern, and she woke up a bit more at his tone, which in truth she acknowledged she deserved for her earlier use of him. "There is a shadow on you, much like the one I saw when I first beheld you. What has happened?"

So she told him of Hiranion, how much he had frightened her the night before, and in how many different ways he had frightened her. Speaking of it in the daylight did a great deal to chase her vague fears away, for Terisda again wondered if she read too much in his actions. As she closed the brief tale she raised her hands in dismissal and said, lightly, "I suppose I was just cross at him calling me 'little one'. Only you have ever done so."

Legolas' face had been unreadable as she spoke, but at that he gave a small start, then amusement slanted the corners of his eyes up. "What, Hirgon never called you that?"

"Hirgon called me many things, none of which I will repeat to you, Lord Elf, for fear of sullying your pretty ears."

He laughed softly, then put his head to one side and studied her briefly. "There, that's better. You are as bright as ever now."

Terisda had never been entirely sure what the Elf meant when he called her 'bright', but her mood was easier and she smiled at him gratefully. "Ah, Legolas. Do not be offended, but I am not sorry I mislead you at first, for I believe your attentions saved me. I am no Elf, but if I could have died of grief in those first few hours, I would have."

"I know. I am glad I was there to prevent it."

Her mood turned, and she cast her eyes down, plucking uncertainly at the bedcovers. "And now--"

"Now, little one?"

"I have no husband, no child, no land--but I am far less willing to die than I was."

"So much has been taken from you. Are you so sure that a child will make it right?"

Her head snapped up, and she stared wide-eyed for a while, not daring to hope, but he did not drop his gaze, and there was an intentness in his clear eyes that seemed to completely envelop her. "No," she finally whispered, "no; but it will help."

He smiled slightly, and the intensity of his gaze deepened. "Lady, you again find me in a fey mood. For I must soon leave Middle Earth, leave the trees and the green ways, and sail over sea to Aman, where that which Men call the Undying Lands can be found. Had I choice, I would not do it, for I have lived all my long days in Middle Earth and I dearly love it. But the compulsion is upon me, and it is not one I can long deny." He reached out his hand, and trailed a finger down the side of her face, and Terisda found she was holding her breath. "And I think I must be weak, for I find the idea of some part of me remaining in Middle Earth -- compelling."

"Legolas--"

His hand slipped down to her neck and curved around it, thumb brushing against her cheek, and he was suddenly much closer to her. "What say you, little Torrey? Is a child still what you want?"  
  


For answer she buried herself against him, and he did not deny her the comfort of his arms. He folded them around her, pressing his palms against her lower back. A sigh stirred her dark locks, then he gave a soft, rueful laugh. "Lady, your time is not ripe. Even if I lay with you now, you will not conceive."

There was a promise in that she dared not comment on. Instead she murmured, "Then lay with me for comfort's sake."

His hands shifted, sliding up her back, tangling in her hair. "Torrey," he whispered against her ear, "that would be my pleasure." 


	10. The Weight of Choice, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lady of Gondor decides that only Legolas will do for her ... but what is it she really wants?

Despite her pique and her ill feelings toward Hiranion, Terisda began to venture out from her rooms more often. She took most meals with her husband's kin, made appropriately indulgent comments about their little orcs where necessary (although the children were perfectly aware of her insincerity and stuck out their tongues at her when their parents weren't looking), and tried to temper her impatience as she waited for the King's pronouncement regarding her fate. She was especially gentle, or as gentle as one of her variable temperament could be, with Andina, for the other woman appeared very fragile. Occasionally Terisda wondered if Andina, too, regarded Hiranion's future plans with suspicion. 

After the evening meal Hiranion would escort her to the door of her suite, but she did not open it until he took his leave and no matter how loquacious he was feeling that evening she waited in the hallway until he ran out of words to speak and was forced to depart. He was simply being solicitous of the widow, she told herself, opening the door as his footsteps creaked back down the stairs. That was all there was to it. Still she doubted, and so remained cautious in his presence.

Then she would close the door, and like as not her lover would be there, and Hiranion would become the least important thing in her life for a few hours.

There were still times when she cried in his arms, for doing this with anyone other than Hirgon would sporadically strike her as very peculiar. Legolas would simply hold her close and stroke her hair and murmur to her in Elvish, and peace would come over her heart again. Yet he would never tell her what it was he said.

This evening she at first thought he was not there, but she was not disturbed because he always came before the night was done. She went into her bedroom, but caught some small noise as soon as she crossed the threshold, and quickly turned. This time when she scanned the outer room Legolas was leaning against the window with his hands behind him, and she did not know if he had just come in or if he had been there from the first but chose not to be seen. Terisda set one fist at her waist and tried to be severe. "One day the person who walks in will be a maid, or even Hiranion, and then where will you be?"

"Long gone," the Elf laughed. "I can tell when it's you, Torrey."

She started to ask how, then paused. He might say something sweet about the lightness of her footsteps, but it was equally likely he would claim to be able to scent her through two doors -- and there were some things about the keenness of Elvish senses she would rather not know.

"The stars are bright in the sky tonight," he told her with just a touch of yearning, and when she thought on it she realized it had not been so very long since she had lain under the night sky with him. "I do not want to waste them cooped up in here. Come out with me."

She regarded him sourly, mindful that she was dealing with someone who could shimmer with light one minute and disappear without a trace into the darkness the next, and who therefore was not likely to appreciate the limitations of movement that bound a mere mortal. "And how do you propose to go? I do not have your delicacy of step, and those stairs will give me away."

"It would be a difficult thing for even an Elf to tread those silently," Legolas agreed gravely. "It will have to be the window, then."

Although she said nothing, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot, and her expression spoke volumes. Humor danced across his features, and he placed one hand over his breast. "I promise you will take no hurt."

"Can you also promise we will not be seen?"

"Yes," he answered promptly, and he brought out his other hand from behind his back, and in it was a small cloth square which, when shaken out, proved to be a gray mantle very like the one he often wore. He cast it about her, and it completely enveloped her. Standing back, he nodded in satisfaction. "There. It is a cloak of Lothlorien. None will see you come or go. We can walk through the halls, thumb our noses at Hiranion, and he will never notice as we dance out the front door."

"If he manages to ignore the squeaking stairs, he might still be cognizant of the door opening and closing on its own." She gathered handfuls to hold the hem off the floor. "Of course, when I trip over this and fall at his feet, that might also provide some small inkling."

"None of your contrary thoughts, Torrey. We can be as free as we like tonight. All you have to do is trust me." He held out his hands to her.

"Oh, is that all," Terisda gibed mildly, making no move towards him.

But he was suddenly next to her, although she did not see him move, and his hands closed about her waist. "Close your eyes, faint-hearted one."

Terisda meant to keep them open for spite, but he leapt up on the window's edge with her in his arms, and she gave a small shriek as she looked down into the dark street, and her eyes scrunched shut of their own accord. There was a breath of a chuckle in her ear, then a strange sensation as wind hit her face and fluttered the cloak about, before all became still. She opened one eye, then both, staring about in amazement. Legolas yet held her, but they were in the middle of the street underneath her window. Apart from the sensation of wind she had not felt as if she were falling, nor had she been aware of the sensation she most dreaded, that of stopping suddenly at the end of the fall. She looked on him with awe. "Your kind can fly, can't they?"

Legolas laughed his soft laugh. "Perhaps we float a little, but only birds fly." Setting her down, he took a moment to adjust the cloth about her face. "Now don't trip! If you go sprawling I shall have to laugh at you, and that will give us both away. Come!" 

He took her by the hand, and it seemed he was right about Lothlorien cloaks, for although they sometimes came very near people in the streets and paths, none saw them. Even the soldiers guarding the different levels appeared unaware of their passage. Indeed, if not for Legolas's fingers around hers, Terisda would have lost him a time or two, for though she knew where to look there were moments when she could behold no demarcation between the Elf and the shadows through which he walked.

In time they stood without the walls, and turned back to look up at the torches ringing the edges of each of the city's great circles, and the light from the torches reflected off the great white tower so that it gleamed in the night much as it did during the day. Minas Tirith had become a brighter place since the arrival of the King. She mentioned this to Legolas, and the Elf smiled. "Aragorn seeks to take away the gloom of too many dark years, and perhaps to create a bit of Elvish luster. He was raised in Rivendell, the most sparkling of all Elven cities, and he misses its white walls and bright gardens." 

Terisda looked at him sharply, for she suddenly recalled his speech when they first met, about bringing birds and plants to the city once Aragorn came into his own, but she never before equated this Aragorn with the King. "You travel among great company," she told him, and he smiled again, and brought her fingers to his lips. "When I am with you, most certainly," he said easily, and she blushed, but she also laughed and slapped his arm and told him sternly to stop being silly. 

He pulled on her hand, and she followed him again, and he brought her to a place she recognized from the night before he left for Mordor. There he divested her of her cloak, laying it carefully to one side, but he was more careless with his own, tossing it on the ground and then catching her up in his arms, gently laying her down upon it and reclining at her side. Reaching up, she pulled the single tie at his neck, and gold spilled around his face. She ran her fingers through the shining strands, marveling again at the fine texture, and he closed his eyes and nestled his head against her hand, a small pleasured hum in his throat. _Such simple things please him. Actions that would drive a Man to madness leave him unmoved, but just skim fingers in his hair and he melts._ Smiling, she stroked to the nape of his neck and gently smoothed the skin there, and he arched up and moaned softly. "I think I have your measure now, Lord Elf. As often as you did this to me, I finally realized it must be something that brought pleasure to you."

He dropped his head and caught her mouth with his. "You may have my full measure, and soon," he promised against her lips, and delighted shivers coursed through her.

She looked over his shoulder at the bright sparks in the sky, and the pale moon hanging low over the mountains. "You don't want to see the stars?" she teased lightly.

The ends of his smooth hair brushed back and forth against her as he shook his head. "What need have I of stars when you shine--so bright." He drew one of his fingers down the side of her face, curled a knuckle under her chin as he smiled softly down at her. "I have always been drawn to the light." Then his smile was against her mouth again, and his hands traced gently from her face to her throat and shoulders and parts beyond, and she closed her eyes and let her own hands wander where they would.

His care of her was exquisite. He held her until she thought she was dissolving from pleasure, and the moon over them began to vanish into the deep darkness, and the stars shone more brightly, although she did not see them even when her eyes were open. But Legolas saw them reflected there, and the sight fueled his ardor, so that there was no strength left in him when passion peaked, and he rested against her heavily, deep breaths brushing her ear. Spent, she soothed the back of his neck once more with lazy fingers, and he shuddered and stretched and smiled with his mouth against her skin.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," she finally murmured.

"Do you, little one?"

"At this moment, yes. Then dawn would come, and we would be wet with dew and cramped from sleeping out in the open, and I don't care what magic is woven into your Elven cloaks, they would be hard put to get us unseen through Minas Tirith in the broad daylight."

Laughter shook him, although he tried to muffle it against her neck. "Well, I suppose we must leave before these dire things come to pass, but we can linger a little yet." He turned a bit so that she no longer bore his weight, and put his arm under her head for a pillow, shifting her into a more comfortable position. With her knees across his thighs and his body curved around hers and his hand resting cool and heavy just under her ribs, she felt protected and well cared for. She marveled, not for the first time, at how considerate he was after coupling, and thought more women should have an Elven lover at least once in their lifetimes. 

After a while, he began to sing softly in Elvish. She was close to slumber, and his lilting voice kept her from it. Thinking ruefully that women with Elvish lovers got very little sleep, Terisda decided there was something to be said for Men as well, since they did not need quite so much company once bedded. Yet the song was pleasant, and though sleep eluded her the words gave her peace, and she was content. "What are you singing?" she asked, not expecting an answer, but after a pause he began again, only this time the words were in the Common Tongue:

  
__  


     He peered between the hemlock-leaves
  
    And saw in wonder flowers of gold
  
    Upon her mantle and her sleeves, 
  
    And her hair like shadow following. 
  
    Enchantment healed his weary feet
  
    That over hills were doomed to roam; 
  
    And forth he hastened, strong and fleet, 
  
    And grasped at moonbeams glistening. 
  
    Through woven woods in Elvenhome
  
    She lightly fled on dancing feet, 
  
    And left him lonely still to roam
  
    In the silent forest listening. 
  
    He heard there oft the flying sound 
  
    Of feet as light as linden-leaves, 
  
    Or music welling --

  


His breath caught. Legolas broke off, and his hand on her stomach clenched.

"Don't stop," she protested sleepily, half-dozing. "I was listening. Does he find her?"

His body was taut as a bowstring. At first he muttered in Elvish, the words wondering, then he swallowed, hard. When he spoke again, it was in the Common Tongue, and his voice shook. "It's happened, Torrey. It is done."

Her mind was so fogged still she did not take his meaning. It was sometimes a little too easy to forget, in his care of her, that there was cold purpose behind their lovemaking. But the import came to her in a rush, and she was suddenly wide awake. She pulled away enough to be able to see his face, and she nearly cried out, for he was shimmering with light, and it hurt to look upon him. Then the glow faded to a soft glimmer, and she was able to gaze into his face and voice the question that burned in her. "Are you sure?"

His hand stroked over the soft curve of her belly, then his lips touched her temple. "Yes. Quite sure. Where there was one bright spirit before, now there are two." His voice was steadier, and his next words were as practical as any Terisda ever spoke herself. "I can wish a son for you, since your kind set so much on this, but I cannot promise one."

"Any child will be a comfort."

"I am glad," he murmured, and he was quiet for a time. Then he set his mouth against her ear and breathed into it: "Already it is hard to let the two of you go." And her heart almost stopped at that, for although she did not love him, and could not think that he loved her, they had gone through much together in a short time. There was a delicate bond between them, but with the accomplishment of their goal it was already tearing, and she too felt the bitter pang of the coming parting that would completely sever it. Then Legolas spoke again, and there was a musing quality to his tone, as if he thought out loud. "I am considering bringing some of my people to Ithilien." At her glance of alarm he gave a rueful grin and hastened to reassure her. "I do not mean to camp under your window, Torrey! But I have heard much of the forests of the southern regions, and I think tending the trees there may be a good life for one of my kind. It is still a couple of weeks away from your lands at hard canter, so do not fret. I will not trouble you without reason."

Touching his fair face gently with her fingers, she thought sadly it might be the last time she stroked his smooth skin. "I have oft thought I chose well when I chose you."

The corners of his eyes slanted up with his amusement, and he pressed his mouth softly against her palm, and despite her satiation that made her shiver anew. "Yes, you did, didn't you? Come, my lady; now we must be off. There is a window to heft you through, and taking you up will be far more difficult than getting you down."

\-----------

The outer walls usually had an Elf present first thing, but this morn it was one of the sons of Elrond who stood tall in the early morning rays, his dark hair streaming behind him, his eyes cast not upon sun or gull but looking afar, toward the Elven land of Lorien. There was a relaxed air about him, and he hummed a bit as he gazed into the distance.

"'Lúthien and Beren'?" queried a voice from the stairs. "That's a melancholy lay for such a bright day, Elladan."

"I must have heard it recently, for it's been on my mind. And a 'good morning' to you, too, slug-a-bed."

"Hardly," said Elrohir dryly, stepping into the light where Elladan stood, and his eyes followed the same line as that of his brother's. "I've been abroad this past hour. It's an odd thing, but the cloak that I had from Grandfather when last we visited Lothlorien has walked away on its own."

"It will find its way back. Anyway, 'tis a mild morn. You have no need of it."

"Well, in my search for it, I came across Imrahil and spoke with him for a time. It was Mithrellas."

Elladan appeared blank for a moment, then his face cleared. "Nimrodel's handmaiden, wasn't she? I remember her. She went over the sea about the time Grandmother and Grandfather became Lord and Lady of Lorien."

"Evidently she left a pledge or two behind ere she crossed," drawled Elrohir. "Although he seemed to assume she simply died at some point, Imrahil knows her name and claims descent from her. He finds the old family legend that she was an Elf quaint and amusing. More like that she was a simple maid, says the Prince, and the story made up by his forefather to give her status. Given that, there is no reason for him to even suspect she still lives."

"I suppose death is the sensible assumption for a Man to make," murmured Elladan. "But mortality is not a choice offered to many Elves."

They turned as one, and both propped their hands against the wall and leaned back, arching their necks and studying the gulls, the expressions on their faces so matched that, in that moment, even their closest kin would have experienced difficulty in telling them apart. "Anything?" one finally murmured to the other.

"Nothing," came the response. "They are just birds. Extremely loud, extremely messy birds."

"How odd it is, that none would mistake us for Men, and we do not consider ourselves as such -- and yet, it seems the mortal blood is strongest in us, after all."

That brought a silver-toned laugh. "Nay, I think it is that we are more venturesome than our fellow Elves, brother. Few of our kind travel beyond the lands of their birth, and those that do go only to the Grey Havens to take ship to Valinor. **We** , however, have spent most of our long lives roaming Middle Earth, hewing orcs and undertaking quests."

A rueful smile turned up the corners of a chiseled mouth. "Very true! If we went to Valinor, we would like-as-not be the first Elves to ever die of boredom, and then we would end up in the Halls of Mandos for our pains and be more bored than ever! If we are to die anyway, it is better for it to be here. Perhaps there will be more adventures waiting for us past the veiling shadows of Man's Doom." 

"Our uncle did think it was Gift, not Doom." 

The dark heads turned, and the two regarded each other, but after a brief somber glance neither appeared the least disturbed. One smiled brightly. "We are in accord, then?"

There was a soft answering smile. "We can be mortal without being Men," agreed the other lightly. "So. That decided, I think we might consider Estel's request to go to Lorien. He is more tolerant than others of his kind, but that does not make him the most patient of beings."

"I await to see what he will do about the widow." 

And, though there were many widows in Gondor after the wars, there was no question in the other's mind about which widow was meant. The gaze he leveled at his brother held as much warning as amusement. "She has directed her own fate in part, brother, although whether it be gift or doom only time will tell."

"Yet I am curious. And so I will tarry a while longer. Let us tell Estel we leave when the Riders do, and that will satisfy him for a bit."

\-------------------------

Notes: 

1\. Whether or not Elves are so sensitive that they can tell someone is pregnant just by looking at her is sheer speculation on my part. Likewise, whether or not they decide consciously to make babies is also speculation. The idea(s) came from Elves celebrating the date of their conception rather than the date of their birth. I sorta wondered how they could possibly *know* the *exact* date of their conception, and a lot of this story stemmed from that!

2\. Legolas is singing a fragment of the story of Lúthien and Beren. Lúthien was an Elf, Beren was a Man, they had lots of adventures together, and eventually one son. Beren is where the "half-elven" part of Elrond's (and Elladan's and Elrohir's) heritage comes from, although it's really more "seven-eighths" or so elven. ;;^^

3\. The twins have only a small bit to do with this story, but they have their own agenda and keep insisting on being involved! Damn sneaky elf brats...

  



	11. The Weight of Choice, Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lady of Gondor decides that only Legolas will do for her ... but what is it she really wants?

Although Terisda allowed she experienced a few anxious moments, "hefting" her back to her rooms did not appear to be such a great feat for Legolas. Once they reached the narrow street under her window, the Elf lifted her by the hips as if she weighed nothing and folded her over one shoulder. Before she could voice a surprised reproach at this treatment of her, Legolas had left his feet, leaping (it seemed from her vantage point) halfway up the wall before his nimble fingers and feet found purchases any mortal would have overlooked even in bright daylight. Once again Terisda closed her eyes against her certain doom, should he slip. But she felt his hand grasp the back of her dress, then she was across both of his elbows, being cradled most carefully as he stood on the edge of her window with her in his arms. He lightly jumped to the floor, but didn't set her down once in, continuing with her into her bedroom as she complained about being treated like a sack of ground wheat. Laughing, he tossed her onto the bed, then dove in after her, twining his fingers through her hair and silencing her complaints with his mouth. It was as if he were memorizing her, although from what he said before she thought Elves had near perfect memories. Perhaps he was giving her the chance to imprint the smell, the taste of him on her less-perfect mortal senses. Whatever his reasoning for tarrying, she did not question his continued presence. It was during the deepest darkness before dawn when he kissed her nose and her half-closed eyes, whispering soft farewells in her ears that they both knew were likely to be their last.

All in all, after such an eventful night, it was well nigh miraculous that Terisda was awake at all, let alone abroad early enough to consider breakfast. Indeed, even after Legolas left she had hardly slept, but whereas before it was sorrow and uncertainty that kept her from rest, now unrestrained joy refused to let her sleep. Even mundane considerations couldn't dampen her joy. In the night Terisda had suddenly wondered if Elves carried similar to mortals, or if it might be a year or longer before she would be delivered of her child. Legolas had cocked his head as if the question greatly intrigued him, but he either did not know or did not chose to tell her. She sighed. Fretting over things which she could not control was fruitless. She would deal with the complications, both social and physical, of an over-long bearing if and when it happened.

Barreling out of her suite, she nearly collided with a packing crate. Her new mourning wardrobe had arrived, it seemed, but so cowed were all the servants none dared intrude upon her solitude to put it away. She laughed, and pranced down the old stairs so fast the creaking could hardly keep up with her movements. A maid nearly dropped the carafe of water she carried through the antechamber as Terisda wished her an airy 'good day' on her way to the morning room, where breakfast was laid out in warmed metal pans on sideboards. Andina was the only person present. Hiranion and the little orcs, Terisda noted gleefully, were no where to be seen. 

Her sister-in-law appeared as startled as the maid when Terisda breezed in. "You are in high spirits this morning." 

Andina's gentle voice was slightly disapproving, and her gaze lingered upon the dark ribbons encircling the sleeves of Terisda's day dress, hastily applied while the family awaited the delivery of full mourning gear. Knowing that she carried a child, and that the chances of her protecting North Ithilien were far greater than they had been even a day earlier, Terisda was in no mood to act the grieving widow. She could hardly say, _thanks to my Elvish lover, I've just thumbed my nose in Hiranion's face and will shortly be skipping out the front door on my way to Ithilien,_ although the thought of saying it out loud made her even more giddy. So she said what she could. "Oh, Andina! I know it's too soon, but it's almost as if I can feel the child moving this morning!"

Andina started, then cast her eyes down. "I'm happy for you," she said quietly, but Terisda didn't notice her tone contained more sorrow than joy. She was busy flitting from tray to tray, hungry but too excited to eat. Andina finally remarked on her inability to settle down in one place. "You'll make yourself ill if you don't stop moving around so much, Terisda."

Terisda stopped in mid-spin, crossing her hands over her stomach protectively, then put her head to one side as she considered her new status. Apart from her emotional euphoria, she didn't feel any different than she had the previous day, or week, or month. She did not recall her mother staying very still when carrying her younger brother, but she had been very young herself then, and possibly just didn't notice. For a moment she felt the loss of her kin deeply, for she suddenly found she had hundreds of questions about babies she never thought to ask before, and there was no one to ask.

She seized Andina's thin hands, earning a startled, wide-eyed look from her sister-in-law. "You must tell me everything! How it feels when the baby kicks, what it's like to get so ... " she threw her arms out expansively, "... so **big** , what it's like when the baby comes!"

But Andina demurred that it was indelicate to discuss such things, especially before breakfast. Considering some of the very indelicate things she had been doing before breakfast sent Terisda off into more giggles. To provide cover for her laughter, she demanded, "What, you would rather have me ask at dinner, when Hiranion can hear everything?"

Glancing over Terisda's shoulder, Andina went cherry red at that suggestion. A voice came from the doorway. "Ask me what?" Hiranion stood there, a tentative smile on his face, as if willing to be amused, even if the joke were at his own expense.

Her mood sobered immediately, for despite the early hour Hiranion was encased from head to toe in his somber new court finery. "The King wishes to see us? Why was I not informed?"

"The King has sent only for me."

Terisda went very still. There was no way she could construe this news as favorable to her plea to return home. But the blind anger that so often sustained her in the last weeks would not come, and she knew why. Crossing her hands over her belly, she thought to herself, _At least I will have you now._ And, despite the denial of her claim before the King, she was comforted.

  
_  
_

Andina followed the movement of her hands, and her eyes brimmed, and suddenly she rose up and announced she had to see to the children right away. She rushed around Terisda, who was much surprised at this show of emotion, but Hiranion caught her when she would have run past him. He frowned at Terisda as he pulled his wife out of sight, and she did not need to be an Elf to read the message he was sending her: _Do not move._ She was going to have to get used to obedience, it seemed, so she remained seated where she was, and did not even rise to help herself to any of the cooling food.

It was but a few minutes before Hiranion returned, and his jaw was set. He closed the door after himself, and folded his arms and regarded her steadily. "I am really going to have to decide what to do about you," he finally said.

Terisda held his gaze, but he did not say anything more right away, and so she lifted her shoulders in a brief shrug. "I am at your disposal."

The irony of the statement was lost on him, as she knew it would be, but when he spoke, what he said was not anything she had prepared herself to hear. "You will have to have a care around Andina. It is always difficult for her when you are present. You are a bit over-bearing at times," here his words held a fine touch of understatement, and Terisda thought perhaps he understood how to apply irony, if not recognize it when directed at himself. "She is much in awe of you. She always has been. It's worse now, of course."

Given her efforts to be kind to Andina, Terisda was affronted. "Worse, why? If she is not comfortable in Minas Tirith, then mayhap you should both return to Anfalas."

"Terisda, do not take this the wrong way," he spoke slowly, and she got the sense that he was being more careful than ever in what was said, "for it is not your fault; but you are with child, and Andina finds that very difficult."

"I was always happy for her children," ( _ill-mannered little beasts that they are,_ Terisda added mentally). "Why should she not rejoice in **my** child? Or does she find it too irksome to wait some few months before finding out if 'Lord' Hiranion becomes more than just an honorary title for a second son?"

He started, and the frown he bent on her was mighty. "That was uncalled for. Andina has been nothing but kind to you, in spite of your hoyden mannerisms."

"Perhaps that query **would** better be directed elsewhere, then," snapped Terisda.

His formidable self-control nearly broke, and Terisda waited, with a combination of dread and satisfaction, for him to start shouting at her. But he took in a great breath and his countenance smoothed, although his voice was cold. "Abuse me as you like, but do not take your irritation out on Andina. She does not deserve it."

She could not let it drop. "You were the one who put Andina and my child together, not I. I await an explanation. Why does she resent my son before he's even here?"

"Because," he gritted through his teeth, "after she nearly died bearing our last child, I decided there would be no more. I couldn't risk her health again. She had reconciled herself to my decision, or so I thought. This has brought up the old pain again."

Suddenly Andina's paleness and lack of energy took on new meaning, and Terisda felt very small and petty indeed. "I am sorry. I had no idea." At a loss, she spread her hands in an uncertain gesture and offered, "Two are enough, surely."

"Considering that we both had siblings once upon a time, and parents and, in my case, a couple of uncles and a few more cousins, that is a naive statement." It was close to a snap, and she winced at the cutting tone, but felt she deserved the rebuke. "And there are still dangers in the world. I have been making inquiries, Terisda, and it seems we may be the very last of all the Houses of Ithilien, not just the North. It was always but sparsely populated; still, I expected there would be more of us."

"I never thought you were particularly attached to Ithilien."

"I am not. It was always a dangerous place, full of orcs and smoke and blood. Yet I hope I know my duty, to my family and to the land."

Much of what she had done since Hirgon's disappearance had been for kin and country. That thought brought to mind some of her 'duties' with Legolas, and she repressed a smile, and spoke quickly to cover her lightening of mood. "I suppose, because I do not expect to have more than this child, that two seem to me a luxury." 

The sternness about his face lessened. Although he was still cross with her, his words were not as edged. "You are young and fair, Terisda. You will find another husband."

She could not imagine marrying again, for she was very conscious of her good fortune with Hirgon and thought it asked too much of fate to provide her with another husband as lenient. "It is hard to find something when one has no intention of looking. Or did you have someone in mind?" A startled expression crossed his face, and he looked at her without comprehension. Terisda kept her tone light, for she did not want to give him any ideas. "Some merchant in Laketown, perhaps, who might be more willing to barter if a noble bride were part of the deal?"

His jaw dropped. She had discomforted him many times during her marriage to his brother, but she had never before seen such an expression of complete shock take over his features. "Is that why you've been... ? I would never force you to marry someone."

"No, I suppose not. Not if you had use for me yourself."

He stared at her, and his face completely shut down. He stalked over to the window, his back to her, his shoulders held stiffly. From her vantage point in the chair she could see one hand thrust against the window sill, so tightly clenched the tendons stood out white against his skin. 

The quiet stretched until her ears hurt from trying to catch a sound from him, and still he did not speak. Finally she could take the silence no more. "Hiranion, I spoke in haste. I'm sorry that I misjudged you."

"You were not mistaken." He did not turn around, and his voice was flat.

Terisda studied his rigid back, and found she was not upset or angry as she expected to be. "Such things are not so uncommon," she said, neutrally.

"No," he agreed, dryly, "but nor are such things honorable." He turned, and folded his arms, and she could not read his mood for his face was set into hard lines she had never seen upon him before. "Terisda , I would never do anything to disgrace a woman under my care. I cannot imagine how you came to think such a thing of me."

"I suppose because such things **are** common. And, perhaps, because I occasionally surprised a look from you that did not seem very brotherly."

He flushed, and looked away. "I may have looked, and perhaps even thought once or twice, for I am but a Man, but I hope I have more restraint than to act on every stray notion that passes through my mind. In any case, I have Andina, and I am content with her." His mouth quirked, and he turned his eyes to her again, and Terisda was surprised to see a faint gleam of amusement there. "A good thing, too. I have not had a moment's rest since we moved in here! She is constantly upbraiding me for letting you have such unsuitable rooms. On the face of it, she is correct; but I have reminded her, repeatedly, that you are not one for protocol and it is better for all of us that you have rooms of your own choice. Still, she is worried for you, and if nagging me provides her with an outlet for her cares, it is little enough a price to pay."

"You love her," Terisda said in stark astonishment, for in truth it was not an emotion she considered consistent with his character. "I always assumed you married her for her dowry."

Hiranion muttered harshly under his breath (and she pretended not to hear what he said) and responded stiffly. "We suit well enough, Terisda. You have always judged too much on appearances." She stared at him, amazed that he thought such, and uncomfortably aware of how much it echoed her own long-standing opinion about him. But Hiranion sighed, and pushed away from the window. "We will talk on this more, if you like, or never mention it again if that's what you prefer. I am bound to the King for the rest of this morning, and he is not one to be kept waiting."

"We have said all that needs to be said, I think. I'm sorry--" and she paused, because she wasn't sure if she **was** sorry, or what it was she might be sorry about. "I'm sorry we didn't have this conversation a long time ago," she eventually said. "I've thought hard things of you without cause."

He chuckled a bit, and the heaviness in the room lightened appreciably. "Well, I am very glad we did not. Hirgon would have killed me as much for the thought as for the deed." He smiled at her, but left without kissing her hand as he usually did, and Terisda thought that was all for the better. 

She remained quietly in the room for a while longer as the new knowledge of both Hiranion and Andina played through her mind, and she held her hands folded over her child as she sat.

\----------------------------------

An hour after Hiranion's departure another messenger showed up on the doorstep, and this time the summons was for Terisda. Wondering if the King had meant to talk to both of them at once and was even now making Hiranion kick his heels in some dusty hallway, Terisda struggled into her new court dress. But the summons was for an hour that gave her ample time to prepare, and Hiranion had sounded sorely pressed to make his appointment with the King when he finally left. So she layered on her paints and carefully adjusted the dark lace of her new gown about her hands and neck, and was very polite to Hurin when he showed up with the same fat, docile horse to take her to her meeting with the King.

Once there she was admitted promptly into the throne-room, the very place where the King of Rohan spoke to her about her husband's death. And this time she looked about carefully, especially in the dark places of the room since she now knew Legolas was capable of melting into the shadows, but either he was concealed so well she could not discern him, or he was not present. Otherwise, the room was filled with the living paraphernalia that usually cluttered such a place, courtiers and petitioners and some officials she vaguely recognized and thought might have to do with the City's reconstruction efforts. She glimpsed both the Elf lords in their same corner, but no longer wondered at their presence, for she knew now, as all in the city knew, that the King had been fostered by their father, and despite the millennia between them they were brothers of a sort. 

The King was just finishing with one person, who was clutching an official-looking scroll that he appeared very pleased with, when Terisda's presence was announced. He held up a hand for her to approach, and she cast an apologetic look at the officials whose turn she usurped, and came forward, and bowed before him. The King gazed down at her, and there was a spark of humor in his gray eyes, and he made no attempt to lower his voice when he spoke to her. 

"I have come to a decision, which I have already discussed with Lord Hiranion, and although he had some concerns," the King smiled, and Terisda was brought sharply to mind that he was a warrior, with a warrior's cruel edge to his words at times, "when need be I can be very -- persuasive.

"This is my judgment, and whether it be gift or doom for you, only time will tell. Your father's house, Culumaldas, is now your house, and your father's lands are now your lands, and they are to remain your lands, whether or not you bear a son, whether or not you remarry. If you have a daughter rather than a son, then they will be her lands, and the same conditions will apply to her. If you are blessed with a son, then Hirgon's lands will fall to him upon his majority, but you will have the management of them until then. This is what Lord Hiranion most argued against, for he thought these duties would overtax you;" (here Terisda barely restrained a snort); "but the new Prince of Ithilien spoke most elegantly on your behalf in this, and my foster brothers were able to add many historical instances where women of Numenor managed large estates quite well, and so swayed me." 

She stared up at him in amazement, and when he held out a rolled parchment to her she was motionless for a brief moment before snatching it and holding it clenched to her breast. The King motioned to her to rise, and was turning from her, when she finally found her voice. He turned back politely at her first stammer, but there was a touch of impatience about him, and she cut short her thanks and impulsively asked for a boon. "Sire, I believe Lord Hiranion may be much assuaged if my husband's house in the second circle is sundered from the first-born's inheritance and deeded to him and his heirs. I assure you, Hirgon would not mind."

The King looked at her with amusement, and nodded, and someone nearby scribbled furiously on a parchment. Then he turned from her again, and she was left with her child's future tightly clutched in her hands. 

She glanced surreptitiously about the room one last time as she departed, but still did not espy Legolas, and for that she was as much relieved as disappointed. 

Whether he was present that day or not, she never did discover. 

It would be thirty years before she saw him again.

End of Book One

  



End file.
